Folk Bloodbath
by fakiagirl
Summary: USUK, AU. Alfred is a cowboy, a bounty hunter, whatever pays - but he always does what is right. When a man named Arthur saves his life, Alfred finds himself indebted to a stranger. Sometimes, what is right is not so clear.
1. That's the sad thing with life

_Author's note: _This story is inspired by and very loosely based on the song "Folk Bloodbath" by Josh Ritter. You're at no disadvantage if you haven't heard the song, and if you have, don't freak out: Loosely based means loosely based. This won't be a tragedy (probably). However, there will be blood. This story probably takes place in the early 1890s, and it is indeed a Western. :) I don't own the song or its lyrics, which show up in the chapter titles and occasional other places.

Warning, only for the first chapter: character death.

Here's the link to the cover, which can also be found on my profile: art/APH-Folk-Bloodbath-220976744

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><p><em>Louis Collins took a trip out west;<br>When he returned, little Delia'd gone to rest.  
>The angels laid her away.<em>

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><p><em>Chapter 1: That's the sad thing with life<em>

Arthur showed up at the outpost some time in late autumn. They expected him to stay perhaps a day and then move on in an attempt to beat the cold, as all the travelers did at that time of year. Arthur didn't pass through after a day, or even a week. It took them a while, but eventually the people who lived there realized that Arthur's intention was to stay for good.

The town that made up the outpost was small, and there wasn't any way to live there for long without meeting everyone. Matthew was the cook's assistant. The first time Arthur met him, he was covered in flour from head to toe. Arthur was setting down a crate of potatoes when Matthew came out behind the back of the bakery to pick up a bag of sugar. When he saw Arthur, he beamed. "How you doin', Mr. Kirkland?"

Arthur straightened, startled that someone he didn't know knew his name. "J–just fine, thanks."

"I'm Matthew, Matthew Williams," he said, and stuck out a hand.

Arthur took it, and saw that despite his clothes (and his forehead), his hands were flour-free. "A pleasure to meet you," Arthur replied. And no matter how hard he tried later, that was how he always thought of Matthew: Smiling, covered in flour, his gentle eyes squinting just slightly through his flour-dusted glasses.

It didn't take long for Arthur and Matthew to strike up an easy, almost-friendship. Whenever they passed each other in their daily lives, they would pause and exchange a few words. Matthew seemed to understand, if he never said as much, that it was hard for Arthur to really talk to any of the townspeople. There was an underlying distrust of strangers in that place, even though during the trading season they dealt with dozens of them every day. Arthur could see that Matthew, with his naturally quiet ways, didn't quite fit in either. He had found a place of sorts, though, and seemed to be happy in it. However, Arthur had always thought that there was a slight sadness to his smile, and he gradually learned that the reason for it was a brother – Al, or Alfred, who was in the wilderness now, wrangling cattle. "He comes back here every now and then," Matthew said with a sad smile._When he can, _seemed to be the unspoken words. They had traveled out west together, but for some reason Matthew was here while Alfred was there. "It's all about the money," Matthew said softly the only time Arthur asked him. "Alfred's just doing what he's best at."

The winter months were harder by far than what Arthur was used to, but he managed, they all did – and then spring rolled around, and they all felt like they could breathe a bit easier again. With the spring thaw, Matthew said excitedly, Alfred would be sure to come back to visit soon. Arthur looked forward to it, wanting to meet the man that Matthew seemed to love so very much, but not nearly as excited as Matthew clearly was. The months passed without word. Summer came around, and Arthur noticed that Matthew was practically being courted by another young man, a native of the village: Gilbert, who worked in the smithy. Arthur had always associated Gilbert and Matthew, for whenever Matthew had an errand around town, Gilbert wasn't far behind with taunting, sarcastic comments. "Hey, little duckie," he'd say, "Hear about what Louis and Sarah were doing behind the barn last night?" He'd snicker, and Matthew would frown a little, but Gilbert would keep talking and it wouldn't be long before Matthew was smiling. At first, Arthur thought he was just being a nuisance, but he eventually realized that Matthew didn't just tolerate Gil; he treated him as someone he would almost consider a friend. That summer, though, Gilbert got bolder, and it seemed that anywhere Matthew went, Gilbert was there too, leaning against a wall or post and teasing Matthew relentlessly. Matthew's behavior did not change at all as far as Arthur could tell, and Arthur was not sure if that was because Matthew did not notice, or because he did not want to.

Arthur was stacking old crates onto an empty cart when he realized it: Gilbert, with his sharp tongue and foreign appearance, probably had no real friends. Then again, neither did Arthur. Arthur frowned at the worn wood in his hands. _Matthew pities us. _He put the crate in the cart and latched up the back. _One person,_ he thought, _should not be able to hold as much capacity for empathy and pity as Matthew._

Summer ended suddenly. One week it was boiling hot, and the next it rained. It was hot again, and then an early frost struck. Matthew's body couldn't take it. He fell ill before autumn had officially begun. Within five days, it was serious.

Gilbert took whatever time he had to sit with Matthew in his little room. Arthur occasionally came to check in on him, and Gilbert was always there. Matthew, against all odds, was often smiling. One time, Matthew was asleep when Arthur came in. Gilbert was holding Matthew's hand, but he quickly released it when he heard Arthur's footstep behind him. Arthur smiled, left the food he had brought, and turned to leave. He put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder. "It's good you can be with him," he said. Gilbert just ducked his head.

Later, when it was worse, Arthur accidentally overheard them talking.

"–sorry Gil. I really–" Matthew coughed, "I really am, Gil, I'd return your feelings if I could." Matthew smiled and weakly pressed Gilbert's hand between his own. "I just can't." Arthur took a few steps back and then walked up loudly, letting his boots click against the worn wooden floor. He knocked on the open door as if he had just arrived. Matthew looked up and smiled. Gilbert jumped, stood, and left without a word.

"It's good to see you, Arthur," Matthew said. "You look well."

It took eleven days. On the tenth day, Arthur came in to see him. Matthew was barely conscious, and when he had a rare moment of lucidity and spoke it was clear that he was already somewhere else. He didn't even seem to realize that Arthur was there. Gilbert wiped the drool from Matthew's lips with a white cloth as Matthew's eyes lolled, seeing nothing but looking everywhere. Arthur left. Gilbert was holding Matthew's hand when he died the next morning.

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><p>It was already dark when Alfred reached the small outpost town. Exhaustion made his shoulders sag, but as he neared the rough wooden gate he raised his head and grinned tiredly in the dim light. He was <em>home.<em>

"Hail, stranger!" called the gatekeeper.

"Hail yourself," Alfred called back. His voice rang out easily in the cool air. "I mean to find a place to lodge, if I may."

"Of course," the gatekeeper called back, and the gate opened slowly before him. Alfred urged his horse through it, and stopped it on the other side. He tried to force his eyes to stay open as they started to slide closed. The gatekeeper closed the gate and came over to Alfred. "It's late now, but I can care for your horse if you'd like. Lodgings is over that way." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Knock and they'll answer."

"Thank you. I've a person I'd like to see first, though, if it's not too much trouble. Do you know of a man named Matthew Williams? He's my brother."

The man's face fell. He removed his hat and pressed it over his heart. "I'm so sorry sir. Your brother Matthew passed away this morning."

He left his horse with the gatekeeper. When he knocked on the door to the house that Mattie lived in, an elderly man opened the door with tired eyes – the owner of the house, apparently. He led Alfred to the room. Mattie had been dressed in clean clothes, and he lay on the bed on clean sheets. His eyes were closed. "I reckon he should be buried soon, afore the ground freezes up."

Alfred stared at Mattie. He had a gauntness to him that Alfred didn't remember, and he was paler than usual. He didn't look asleep; he looked dead. When Alfred spoke, he hardly realized he was the one talking. "Tomorrow, then. After noon."

The man nodded. "An', sir, I hope you don't mind, but we'd already sorta picked out a spot. It's beneath some trees, before it gets to be real forest. I thought he would have liked that."

Alfred nodded, and the man left him alone with Matt in the small, cramped room.

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><p><em>Author's note: <em>As far as I can tell, what we think of as "glasses" today existed during this time period, even if they weren't common or exactly what we think of as glasses today. (It will come up again later, if briefly.)


	2. People always leave just as folks arrive

_Chapter 2: There's people always leavin' just as other folks arrive_

Alfred woke up. He cleaned off the sweat and grime, he shaved using his little sliver of a mirror, and then he went downtown. He bought a new suit of clothes, possibly the first one he'd ever owned – he couldn't remember anymore. There was a hat hanging on the wall in the shop. It was a ten-gallon Stetson, and it was ox-blood red. The clerk saw him staring at it. "Would you like to try it on, sir?"

His hat was old and worn and he needed a new one. Red. His mouth felt numb. "No need. I'll take it," he said, and he did. The texture felt strange under his fingers, crisp and new. He went back to the small room they were letting him and dressed himself up.

He went to see Mattie before they put him in his coffin. The room cleared out as soon as he arrived. Alfred sat down in the little chair by the bed and looked at Matt. He was laying just the way he had left him the night before. "Hey, Matt," Alfred said. His voice trembled. Why was it doing that? He cleared his throat. "I thought I should . . . come and say something, before they put you in the ground and all." He twisted his new hat in his hands. "I, um. I worked really hard to make life better for us. For you. But I guess you already know that." He looked at Matthew's face, so relaxed with all the lines smoothed out of it. "I wish I could have come back sooner." His voice broke and he was surprised to feel wetness on his cheek. "I wish, I wish so much–" He bit back a sob. He took Matthew's hand. It was cold and stiff and didn't feel like his hand at all. "Matt," he whispered, and another tear streaked down his cheek, and another. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

The sun rose to its zenith, and passed it.

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><p>Arthur followed the small procession through the streets. Little Matthew was carried in his rough wooden coffin by three men, one on either side and one at the back. There was no formality about the procession at all; the crowd formed spontaneously, surrounding the coffin and spilling out from the sides. No one spoke, and the town was eerily silent.<p>

Arthur tugged on the hem of his black coat and matching waistcoat. For the most part everyone's eyes were lowered, but every now and then someone would raise their head and give Arthur a look as though he were unwelcome. He didn't understand why; he had known Matthew as well as any of them, and he was no longer considered quite the stranger he had been when he had arrived. Someone put a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. He looked up into bright blue eyes framed by blond hair. The man was dressed like the rest of them, but he held a bright red, wide-brimmed hat by his side. "Here we honor our dead by wearing red, stranger," the man said quietly. "That's why they's all lookin' at you funny. Here." He pulled out the red handkerchief that had been tucked in his breast pocket and held it out to Arthur.

Arthur took it gingerly. "Thank you," he murmured, and looped it around his neck. The man nodded and turned away.

The burial was short and solemn. A priest spoke for a while over the body, and then the clay dirt was shoveled back in to fill the hole it had been dug from. Many left once the ceremony was over, but Arthur remained. He felt it was somehow disrespectful to leave before the burial was truly finished.

It was not long until he was one of the last ones left. A few older women stood nearby Arthur while the man from before stood to one side, watching the gravediggers work. "Don't he dress up nice?" one of the women murmured to the other. "Like a fine red rose."

The other one nodded, and Arthur realized they were talking about the stranger. "He does look fine, blooming just for Mattie. Mattie always bloomed nice for him too, didn't he? With that sweet, rare laugh of his." Both the women nodded, their heads bobbing like the dying leaves.

When even the gravediggers had left and there was no one left but himself and the stranger, the man pressed his hat to his heart, knelt down on one knee, and set a hand on top of the new dirt. "What's that saying you picked up in the mountains, Mattie?" he murmured. " '_That's the sad thing with life: There's people's always leavin' just as other folks arrive.' _Ain't that right? Truer words were never spoke."

Arthur left then, left the man with the blood-red hat alone with the new grave and the poplar trees. His mind was still numb with shock and sorrow, and it took him until he was halfway back to his own lodgings to realize who the man must be: Alfred, the only person Mattie had ever wanted to see.

* * *

><p>That night, there was an odd sort of somber celebration in the saloon. Everyone seemed happy to see Alfred, for he had been gone for something over a year. Alfred, for his part, seemed willing to put up with their constant questions and condolences. Arthur even saw him laugh once, though even before the smile had faded his eyes had once again taken on their sad, worn look.<p>

"You've never met Alfred, have you?" a man asked Arthur. Arthur knew him as the easy-going owner of the general store. He was smiling slightly, and there was a drink in his hand.

"No, I haven't," Arthur said, and took a sip of his own drink. He had taken it out of politeness, but he was beginning to wish he hadn't. He felt obliged to finish it before leaving, but it was only half-way gone.

"Ah, right, you got here a few weeks after he left." The man waggled his drink at Arthur. "You should meet him before he leaves again."

"You think he will?"

"O' course. The question's only when. His home's where Matthew is, but Matthew ain't here anymore, now is he?" There was a twinkle in his eye. "He'll come back to visit, I'm sure, but he won't stay." He took a swig off his drink and moved off.

_Perhaps I should leave as well, _Arthur thought, swirling his drink in his hand. _I've never had a reason to stay, except for the promise of a roof over my head and people to talk to. Perhaps it's time I moved on. _

"Stranger," said a voice by his ear, and Arthur started, nearly pouring his drink all down his front. He turned and looked up into eyes blue as a cloudless sky – the man from before. For some reason, this time he couldn't look away. The man smiled a lopsided grin and presented Arthur with a hand. "We still haven't been properly introduced. I'm Alfred Jones."

"Arthur," Arthur replied, and took the hand. Alfred's grip was firm but not overpowering, and though he could only be taller than Arthur by a few inches, his hand engulfed Arthur's.

"How's it we've never met before, but I hear you've been living here for a while now?"

"Not so long," Arthur said uncomfortably. "I arrived last autumn."

"Ah." Alfred nodded sagely. "It's not such a bad place to be."

"No, it's not," Arthur replied.

"Did you come out here for a reason?" Alfred asked. He sounded curious.

"Not particularly. I was passing through and I just ending up staying."

Alfred cocked his head and smiled slightly. "Something similar happened to me."

"Will you stay long?" Arthur asked.

"Probably not. I've never been one to stay in one place," Alfred said easily.

"I see." So the owner of the general store had been right. "I'm thinking of leaving myself."

"Is that so?" Alfred looked at him thoughtfully. "Where to?"

"I don't know."

Alfred nodded and left it at that.

Where would he go? _Anywhere but here. _Wasn't that how life worked? Find a place, stay a while, and then try to find someplace better. _A place is made of the people in it. _His fingers closed tightly on the fabric of the handkerchief tied around his neck. "Oh," Arthur said, and set down his drink. He quickly untied the handkerchief and held it out to Alfred. "Thank you for letting me borrow it."

"You're welcome," Alfred said, and took it gently. He gazed at it a moment, lost in thought. "I hear you knew Mattie," he said finally. Arthur looked up. Alfred's face was calm, but Arthur could tell he was tired of sympathy.

"I did," Arthur replied, and paused, looking for the right words. "He was . . . one of the most kind and thoughtful people I know. Knew," Arthur corrected quickly, and then glanced away, realizing he should not have drawn attention to it. He bit his lip. _The last thing he wants to be reminded of._

Alfred chuckled, and Arthur looked up in surprise. "Don't go lookin' so melancholy," Alfred said. "The truth can't be helped." And when Arthur looked into his eyes, he saw a look of such suffering and hard times endured that he wanted to say something, anything, to show that he understood.

"I've heard people say he was weak," Arthur said suddenly. "They were wrong. He fought until the last, and that took more strength and bravery than a lot of people have."

A look of pure sadness crossed Alfred's face. "Did he?" he said softly. "Good old Mattie."

"Alfred!" a voice called. Alfred's face immediately smoothed out into a blank expression, and then he smiled as he turned around to face whoever had called. Arthur didn't turn around, didn't pay attention when someone said, "Oh Alfred, I'm so sorry about Mattie." He felt sick. This whole thing was wrong. He threw his drink away and walked out into the cold night air.

He didn't walk far, because he had nowhere else to go but to his lodgings and he knew that he had no chance of sleeping yet. He put his hands in his pockets and looked out at the empty, dark streets. If one wasn't in the saloon, one could think that a peace had settled over the town in honor of Matthew.

He heard a shout nearby and turned his head. Alfred had left too, come out the back way and started off into the dark. Another figure was advancing upon him. The shout had sounded aggressive and mourning, like a cornered, lone wolf, perhaps. Arthur was glad that it caused him to stare a second longer at the two of them, for otherwise he would not have caught the faint flicker of moonlight on the barrel of a gun.

"There's no need for that," Alfred said warningly. Arthur walked swiftly over to where they were, checking his own revolver under his jacket as he went. The other man was Gilbert, he saw, as he got closer. He wore no jacket despite the cold, simply a red vest over a collared shirt. Arthur remembered now seeing him at the funeral, but only briefly, lingering on the edge of the crowd for a moment.

Gilbert spat at the ground and barred his teeth in what looked like a feral grin. "There is need for it. Mattie waited for you every moment he breathed, and you only show after he's . . . ?" Gilbert's eyes narrowed and his teeth disappeared behind his lips. "He died waiting for you." The gun didn't waver. It was pointed straight at Alfred's forehead.

"Believe me, I've all the regret in the world about that," Alfred said softly. His eyes flickered over to Arthur and Gilbert glanced over his shoulder. His red eyes met Arthur's and he saw the gun now barred by Arthur's side. He turned back to Alfred as if Arthur didn't exist, and adjusted his gun to account for the slight amount Alfred had moved.

"Regret isn't good enough," Gilbert said fiercely.

"I'm going to walk away now," Alfred said calmly. "And just know that there isn't any way you can punish me more than I punish myself." He turned his back to Gilbert and took a slow step away from him.

"Don't you want to be with Matthew?" Gilbert asked, his voice too loud and too high. "After all, you've made him wait long enough." A slight tightening of the muscles in his face was all the warning Arthur needed. He aimed his revolver, hardly even remembering how it had come to be in his hand, and pulled the trigger. Gilbert's shot went wild and he cried out in pain. He dropped the gun and staggered to the side, blood dripping black in the pale light down his arm and side. Alfred had ducked at the shots, and now he turned around and stared. Gilbert sank to his knees, head down and whimpering in pain. Inside everything had gone silent, then turned to chaos, and Arthur could hear the people starting to spill out of the front door. Alfred's wide eyes met Arthur's. Arthur was breathing hard, but he felt perfectly calm. Someone saw them, shouted, and suddenly everyone, it seemed, was upon them.

Someone pulled the gun from Arthur's unresisting hand and pinned his arms behind his back. Several people were helping Gilbert to his feet, and someone had already torn a strip out of his shirt and was tying it around the wound. Arthur had lost sight of Alfred in the crowd.

"Alright, what happened here?" bellowed a voice. It was the town sheriff, and he looked angry.

"Arthur shot me," Gilbert said loudly through gritted teeth.

The sheriff turned to Arthur. Arthur frowned back at him. He strode over and took Arthur's arm from whoever had been holding him. "You, son," the sheriff said, "Are going to come with me. I don't know what it's like where you come from, but here we don't solve disagreements with violence." Arthur felt cold steel lock around his wrists. He wanted to protest, but the sheriff's accusation had made his blood run cold; they still thought of him as a stranger, and protesting would only prove his guilt in their eyes. So he scowled at the ground and made no move to break free.

"That's not how it was, sheriff," came a voice, loud and clear above the crowd. Alfred pushed himself forward to where the sheriff and Arthur were. He _glared _at the sheriff, and there was a righteous shine in his eyes. "Arthur was defending me. He saved my life."

"Alright, nothing to see here, move alone," the sheriff said loudly as if Alfred had not said anything at all. "And someone see to Gilbert's arm, will you?" People grudgingly began to move away, taking the moaning Gilbert with them, but Alfred stood fast.

"Sheriff."

"I heard you, Alfred," the sheriff said tiredly. "It doesn't matter who started it. Arthur shot a man, and he's going to jail for it."

"He deserves a trial," Alfred said sharply. "You don't have all the facts–"

"I have all the facts I need," the sheriff cut in. "It's not a death sentence. He doesn't need no trial. He just needs to sit in a cell for a bit and think about what he's done." The sheriff began to walk away, and when Arthur didn't immediately follow, he found himself yanked forward by his wrists. Arthur gritted his teeth and obediently picked up his pace. He glanced back briefly and saw Alfred still standing there, looking after them, his hands in fists by his sides.

* * *

><p>It was near midnight when Alfred knocked on the door of the sheriff's house. "Come in," called the sheriff. Alfred came in and closed the door behind him. The sheriff was sitting by the fire. "Good evenin', Alfred," he said, his tone friendly. "I didn't expect to see you so late."<p>

"Good evenin," Alfred replied, and took off his hat. "Missus," he said with a nod to the sheriff's wife, who was cleaning up in the kitchen.

She nodded back at him and smiled. "Evenin', Alfred."

"Please, have a seat," the sheriff said, gesturing to a chair nearby. "What has brought you here tonight?"

Alfred settled himself into a chair and leaned forward, holding his hat steadily in his hands. "I'm leaving tomorrow, at dawn."

The sheriff raised his eyebrows. "Tomorrow? So soon?"

"Yes. There's nothin' to keep me here."

"Alright." The sheriff sighed. "I'm sorry to hear it. You've done a lot for this town."

"I know. And you've been very kind to me and Matt" – his voice didn't stutter in the least – "So I don't want to leave here with any debts unpaid."

"All your debts with me have been evened, I think." The sheriff took a long, thoughtful drink and eyed Alfred curiously.

Alfred nodded. "I believe so too. And I don't want any more, so I'm here to make a deal." There was a shine to his eye, and the sheriff leaned forward cautiously.

"What sort of deal might this be?"

"I know there's things out here that are hard to get, good fabric and supplies and the like. I've brought things like that here before, and everyone's always paid me for it, but I know the town can't afford that. I'd be willing to bring supplies as often as I can and as long as I can, and medicine when I can get it, free of charge."

The sheriff raised an eyebrow. "That's quite the offer. Are you sure I'm the one you should be taking this up with?" Alfred simply looked back at him. "Alright, what's the other half of the deal?"

"That no matter what, you let me back into this town so that I can see Mattie."

The sheriff frowned. "Is there any reason why I wouldn't be letting you in?"

Alfred shrugged. "Life happens. I just want some assurance, is all."

The sheriff sighed. "You've always had a good heart, Alfred. I can't deny you entrance here. I'll swear it if you like."

Alfred grinned. "Well, thanks."

"Is that all?"

Alfred ducked his head to hide the widening of his smile. "Well, there is just one more thing. . . ."


	3. He bought a ten gallon Stetson

_Chapter 3: He bought a ten-gallon Stetson_

The jail cell was cold, the little cot was hard, and the blanket was thin. Arthur hardly slept at all. He spent most of the night thinking. When he woke, it was just before dawn and the jailer was rattling his keys in the door to his cell.

He raised his head and looked blearily at the man. "What, they decided to hang me after all?" he croaked. He swallowed thickly; his throat was dry.

The jailer didn't say anything, just grabbed him by the arm and brought him out front. The sight of sky-blue eyes woke Arthur up. _What the hell is he doing here? _Arthur wondered as Alfred's eyes locked onto his.

"Here y'are," the jailer said, and released him.

"Thank you," Alfred said to the jailer, who nodded and left. Alfred smiled at Arthur. "I"m here to let you go."

"Let me go?" Arthur's eyes narrowed. "I thought I was sentenced to a week at least."

Alfred grinned, the first time Arthur had seen him do so. "And isn't it a good thing I talked them out of it. You look like hell."

Arthur's hand automatically shot up to his hair. It was sticking up all over the place, he could tell, and his eyes were probably red-rimmed from a lack of sleep. His clothes were rumpled and he didn't exactly have the most pleasant expression on his face. His hand dropped to his side. "How did you manage to talk them out of it? They seemed pretty set on it yesterday."

"Well, I did make them a bit of a deal," Alfred said, tilting his head cockily. "You saved my life, so this is the least I can do."

"Thank you," Arthur said cautiously.

"I mean, this isn't really enough to repay you for it. To do it proper I'd have to save your life too, but I don't reckon you want to be in that kind of position." He flashed Arthur another grin. "'Sides, as I'm leavin' now I don't have time to do much else. When I come back in the future and you need a favor, just holler and I'll help you."

"You're leaving already?" Arthur eyed Alfred's getup: Working boots, spurs, his hat. Traveling clothes.

"I need work and they don't have my sort here. 'Sides, I told you last night, didn't I? I'm not one to stay in a place long."

"What sort of work would that be?" Arthur asked warily.

"Cow wrangling, the like," Alfred said vaguely. "Hard work, but it pays." He balanced on the heels of his boots and watched Arthur's reaction with interest.

Arthur was thinking. His desire to escape from this place had reached a breaking point last night, and here was a man who owed him a favor. He could stay, of course, and deal with the consequences. The town doubtless thought of him now as a violent man, and if there was one thing he tried to avoid, it was drawing attention to himself. If he left, this would no longer be his home, but it had never been his home to begin with; it had been theirs. He could start again.

"I'd like to go with you," Arthur said finally. "If you took me to a town where I could find work, I'd consider your debt repaid."

Alfred raised his eyebrows and came back down flat on his feet. "I wasn't inviting you along, stranger."

"I know." They looked at each other steadily for a moment. "I wouldn't be a burden."

"I guess you weren't lyin' when you said you wanted to leave here," Alfred said finally. "You can come along, and I'll find you work. Do you own a horse?"

"Not anymore."

Alfred nodded. "I'll see to that. Meet me at the hitching post in an hour."

"I'll be there."

"Good." Alfred eyed him for a moment longer and then smiled. "Don't forget anything. They ain't gonna want you back here for a while." He turned on his heel and left. Arthur watched him go and then ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. He had a feeling this was going to be a long ride.

* * *

><p>Arthur packed his things quickly – he had very few of them, he realized as he cleaned out his small room. It wasn't long before he had his bag slung over his shoulder and was on his way to meet Alfred. Alfred had given him time to say his goodbyes, but Arthur hadn't bothered. There were very few people here who would miss him, and one of them was already gone.<p>

"The hitching post" meant the one in front of the general store. When Arthur reached it, Alfred was standing by two horses, both fully saddled and bridled. Alfred was talking to the owner of the town stable. When he saw Arthur, he stopped talking and grinned at him.

"Hey," said Alfred as he drew nearer. "I was just taking to Eli here, and it turns out he owes me a favor. He's givin' us this one for free!"

"That's very generous," Arthur said warily, wondering what kind of favor was worth a horse. He looked a little more closely at the horses. Their saddlebags were full to bulging, far more than was required for one person. . . . "What is all this?"

"Huh? Oh, right. I figured you wouldn't have a bedroll, so I bought you one, 'cause you'll need it for tonight. Then there's mine, o' course – they take up a lot of room when it gets to be cold like this – and a tent, to keep off the snow and frost. Also stuff for cookin', and gear."

"Gear?"

"Yeah. Just stuff that comes in handy."

"Right," Arthur said, narrowing his eyes. He packed the contents of his bag into the saddlebags of the horse that was to be his, and then he waited.

As Alfred finished up his business with Eli, townspeople started appearing. Arthur had always wondered at the apparent ability of news to travel through thin air in this town. At first they stared a little, mostly at him. He could almost hear their whispers: _"Why is he with Alfred?" "Is he leaving? Why?" _Apparently some rumor or something of the truth was enough to satisfy them, for they did not approach him or Alfred about it directly. Eventually, though, he stopped being what they were interested in.

He watched curiously as people gradually surrounded Alfred. They started talking, saying things like, "Alfred, why didn't you tell us you were leaving?" or, "I didn't know you'd be gone so soon! I only have half a loaf of bread left from last night, but if I'd known I'd have baked you a fresh one!"

Alfred just chuckled and waved away their protests. "I'll be back before you know it," he said, gradually working his way towards his horse. Finally he had accepted enough loaves of rye and cornbread and mounted his horse in one smooth motion. Arthur quickly followed suit. "Now, don't you fret," Alfred said to the crowd of people. "I'm not leaving for good. I'll still come back regular-like, so until then–" he doffed his hat, "–A-dieu!" He turned his horse around and started down the main road. Arthur urged his horse forward and followed him. When they reached the town gates, the gatekeeper waved a cheerful goodbye to Alfred and opened them.

There they were, outside of civilization with nothing but open land before them. Arthur couldn't help taking a deep breath of fresh air. It had been a long, long time since he had been out of those gates, and even longer since he had been on a horse. He had forgotten how good it felt.

Alfred indicated the horizon. "There's a town a clear shot this way. We should be able to make it in two days, if we don't break for too long."

Arthur nodded. "Is there work there?"

Alfred shrugged. "Maybe." He gave Arthur a side-long glance, then looked back at the horizon. Arthur waited. They were silent for a moment, no noise in the air but the rustle of the sparse grass and the creak of leather. "I suppose I should be a bit more honest with you," Alfred said finally. "I don't really wrangle cattle. I used to, when we first got out here, but I don't anymore. I . . . find people, see, who are . . . on the wrong side of the law."

Arthur felt his blood run cold. He sat ramrod straight and stared straight ahead. "You're a bounty hunter."

Alfred shrugged uncomfortably. "If you like. I can still get you a job with cattle, if that's what you're after." He looked Arthur up and down and smiled slightly, humorously. "Somehow I doubt it."

Arthur's lips tightened. "I'll take what I can get. I can handle a horse, so if need-be I figure I can learn how to handle a cow."

Alfred stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. Arthur scowled at him. "Handle a–?" Alfred choked out. He was laughing so hard he was crying and Arthur thought he might fall off his horse. He took off his hat and wiped his eyes. "Stacking crates ain't exciting enough for you?" he asked, still chuckling. "You'd prefer it if you had to lasso them to get them to stay still?"

Arthur frowned irritatedly at his laughter. "How did you know what my job there was?"

Alfred waved his hat expressively, trying to catch his breath. "Oh, I asked around. People like to talk when you give them the chance."

"Why were you asking?"

Alfred looked at Arthur with a strange look in his eyes. "I was just curious as to what a stranger like you was doing in these parts."

"Look," Arthur snapped, frustrated, "This place is full of strangers. The entire West is settled by all sorts of people, all looking for the same thing. Why am I so different? My accent is hardly so strange, but I never felt welcomed in that place, even though I worked as hard as any of them, and clearly you're no different."

"You may not have noticed, but they don't like people they don't understand, and from what I can tell, they didn't understand you in the least. It don't help that you're foreign, and that's all there is to it."

"I'm not so foreign," Arthur said, his voice rising. "England is not so far away!"

Alfred chuckled. "It is out here, sweetheart. On the coast it may only be an ocean away, but here there's an ocean _and _an eternity of land separatin' us. To them, it's like you're from another planet."

Arthur looked at him, a challenge in his eyes. "And to you?"

"To me? You're the first person I've met in this place who told me something honest." Alfred smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Arthur turned back to the horizon, watching what grass was there wave in the wind. _And you're the first person I've met here, _he thought, _Who could be bothered enough to care what I do. _

* * *

><p>Sometime around midday, it got very sunny and Alfred put on his hat. Arthur hunched his shoulders and squinted down at his horse's ears. (They were fuzzy and brown, he noted.) How could it be so cold and still so bright? "You all right there?" Alfred called back to him.<p>

Arthur frowned at him and urged his horse into a trot until he had caught up. "I'm fine. I just don't have a hat."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "No hat?" He held his reins in one hand and leaned over the side of his horse. He searched around in the saddlebag for a minute, then switched sides. "Ah-ha!" he finally said, and tossed Arthur something.

Arthur caught it quickly and examined it. It was a well-worn hat made of leather. There was stitching around the rim. "Thanks." He put it on and it immediately slipped down over his eyes. He tucked his reins beneath his leg and pushed it to the back of his head. He pressed in on its sides, trying to make it at least the width of his head. . . .

"A little big there?" Alfred sounded like he was trying hard not laugh.

Arthur scowled at his horse's ears. "It's fine." Alfred let out a slight chuckle and something hit Arthur's knee. He grabbed at it before it fell and picked it up. It was the same red handkerchief he had borrowed from Alfred the day before.

"You seem to keep needing that, so you might as well keep it," Alfred said. Arthur muttered his thanks and tucked it underneath the hat. It didn't exactly made the hat fit, but the hat wasn't sliding forward all the time either.

They stopped briefly for lunch – bread, cheese, and cornbread – and then rode on again. When the sun started to dip below the horizon, Alfred stopped by a single, lone tree and began to set up camp. Arthur helped him. His hands remembered how to set up a tent even if he had forgotten, for the task had been beaten into them out of necessity. If Alfred thought it was strange that Arthur knew what he was doing, he didn't comment on it. "You can sleep in the tent," Alfred said as they worked. "It's not really big enough for two and I'm used to the cold." Arthur protested but Alfred shrugged him off. "Really. I like sleepin' under the stars."

Dinner was more bread and the last of the cheese. "I prefer to save the beans for when I don't have anything else," Alfred said when he saw Arthur eying the tins. "It's not exactly the most exciting of fare." Alfred's teeth flickered white, then dark again in the uneven firelight.

Arthur slept soundly that night. He woke only once, to the sound of a lone coyote howling at the sky.


	4. It was ox blood red

_Chapter 4: It was ox-blood red_

Alfred woke to the rays of the sun on his face and a horse whuffling at some dust nearby. He rolled over in his bedroll, suppressing a groan when the cold air hit his back. His face was frozen, but the rest of him was nice and toasty. . . . _Oh fine, I'll get up, _he grumbled to himself. He lay there for a moment longer, listening to the horse in its search for a stray piece of grass and the gentle breathing coming from the tent. His head came up and he squinted at the brown smudge that was the tent. _Breathing?_

"_Ooooh," _he said softly when he figured it out. _Arthur. Right._ Deciding there was no avoiding it, he threw off the covers and lunged for his boots. He whacked them against the ground a few times to make sure there were no rattlers cozying up in them and then quickly slid them on. He checked on the horses first and lengthened their ropes so they could get at more grass. The fire came next, for a bit of instant coffee if he could find it. That took awhile to start because he didn't have much kindling, and he couldn't really get it going because the only real wood he had was leftover from the night before, but he made it work. He looked through the saddlebags, and after much jangling of metal against metal he managed to find two mugs and a tin to heat the water in. He yawned and settled himself by the fire.

There was a muffled noise from the tent as though someone was rustling around under the covers, then the clunk of boots, and Arthur's head peered out from between the flaps. He stared at Alfred without seeming to really see him.

"Good mornin'," Alfred piped up.

"Mmn," said Arthur in response, and pulled himself the rest of the way out of the tent.

"Sleep well?"

Arthur sat down across from Alfred and spent a moment rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Yes," he said finally. "You?"

"Yup. I always sleep well under the stars," Alfred lied, and handed Arthur a mug. "Coffee? I'm boiling the water at the moment."

Arthur took the empty mug and stared at it for a moment. "Tea?" he finally asked.

"Nah, I never really liked it myself. I got coffee, though."

"You have," Arthur corrected automatically. "If coffee's all you have, then no thank you."

Alfred shrugged. "As you like. The water's in the canteen there if you want it."

Arthur spotted it and gazed at it for a moment. He picked it up and poured himself a little water.

"You're not really a morning person, are you?" Alfred asked with a smile.

"I suppose not," replied Arthur. He sipped at the water and finally met Alfred's eyes. "Do we have any of the cornbread left?"

"A bit, I think." Alfred stood and fetched it from the saddlebag. He got out two tin plates and split the cornbread between them.

"Thank you," Arthur said, and took his plate.

Alfred picked up a piece and shoved it in his mouth. He noticed that Arthur was hesitating. "What?" he asked around his mouthful of food.

Arthur looked mildly disgusted. "Do you have any silverware?"

"Oh, you can just eat it with your hands. You ate it with your hands yesterday, remember?" he pointed out.

Arthur looked disappointed. "Oh. I suppose I did." He stared at the cornbread for a moment longer and then took a hesitant bite.

There was silence. _Jeez, is this guy hard to talk to or what? _Alfred thought. The water looked close enough to boiling for him, so he poured a little pile of grounds onto a cloth and balanced it over his mug. Biting his cheek in concentration, he carefully poured the water over the grounds and then put the tin back on the fire. After a minute, he rung out the cloth and dusted the grounds onto the ground. When he looked up, he saw that Arthur was watching him with a blank expression. He was very used to reading people, but Arthur didn't exactly make it easy on him. "So, Artie," he tried uncertainly, "How come you're all the way out West?"

"Arthur."

"Er, Arthur."

"Same as everyone else. Looking for a better life."

_Okay, _thought Alfred. _Guess that's off-limits. _"You got any hobbies? I guess I don't really, but for a while I collected arrow-heads, you know, Indian ones, obsidian and stuff–"

"No."

"Favorite color? Have you got one of those?" Alfred asked, his tone slightly exasperated despite his best effort to hide it.

That made Arthur blink. His eyes lost their dull look and he focused on Alfred. A slight smile appeared on his mouth. "I'm sorry, I'm making this difficult for you, aren't I?"

Alfred grinned. "A bit, yeah."

Arthur set down his plate and sat up straighter. "I'm normally much better at conversing. Yes, I have a favorite color. It's green. What is yours?"

"Blue. Sky blue."

An ironic smile appeared on Arthur's lips. "You do realize you just named your eye color."

"You did too!" Alfred pointed out.

"Well yes, I suppose I did. Something of a coincidence, don't you think?" His tone was wry.

"Well," Alfred said apologetically, "Mine used to be red, but it isn't any more on account of it meaning something different, now." He touched the edge of his hat unconsciously. "Blue seemed like a nice second choice."

"Oh." Arthur looked away. A small silence followed.

"I suppose we should start off," Alfred said finally. "If you're done with breakfast."

"I am." Arthur stood and helped him clean up the campsite. They each saddled their own horses. Alfred was done in a matter of minutes but Arthur took his time, running has hand along his horse's fine coat as he tightened the straps. Alfred noticed.

"You fond of horses?"

Arthur didn't look up. "A bit. I haven't been on one in a while."

"She's yours, you know."

"What?" Arthur's startled eyes met Alfred's smiling ones. "I didn't pay for her."

"I told you, he owed me a favor. I can't exactly sell it back to him, and I have no need of a second horse."

Arthur's hands dropped from the side of the horse and he straightened. "He didn't give her to me."

"Well, she's yours if you want 'er." Alfred turned away and scuffed over the remains of their fire.

Arthur looked back at the horse – his horse. "A fine girl, aren't you," he murmured. He rubbed her forehead and she leaned into his touch, nearly bowling him over. He pushed her off of him with a smile and slid on her bridle. They packed up the rest of their gear quickly, and then they were off.

"You know," Alfred said after a while, "You ride funny. I can't tell if it's all you or some of the horse."

"Back in England, the saddles are very different and we don't tie the reins together," Arthur said automatically. He clamped his mouth shut. _English. Riding for pleasure. Aristocrat, or close to it. _Not to mention that his back and thighs hurt like hell. But Alfred didn't seem to notice.

"Oh, that's why," Alfred said. "Yeah, ya only need one hand to control the horse, like this." He toed his horse closer to Arthur and let go of his reins. He reached over and positioned Arthur's left hand in a fist around both reins. "See, the other one holds onto the ends over here." He leaned over farther and pushed Arthur's right hand around the tail end of the reins. "That's so's you can use it to lasso the cattle or whatnot when you need to."

Alfred was leaning over precariously far, his arm stretched practically across Arthur's lap. Arthur could smell his sweat and the musky scent of him. It sent a shock through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. Alfred straightened and suddenly Arthur could breathe again.

"Hey there, stop that," Alfred said his horse, and hauled its head away from Arthur's horse, which it had been nudging. "Don't go bugging her." He moved his horse away and suddenly everything was normal again. Arthur took care to keep his hands positioned as Alfred had instructed. _Go to a new place, learn the rules. _

They stopped for lunch, which was just bread. Arthur was glad for the rest; so much riding after such a long break was really getting to him. They didn't break for long, though, and after some casual conversation about the weather they mounted their horses once again. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that didn't hurt without being obvious about it. Alfred clearly did not have this problem; he looked as relaxed as if he did this every day. Which he probably did, Arthur realized. His gaze drifted to what Alfred's was focused on, a spot somewhere on the horizon. Suddenly he realized what it was: Not a smudge or a stand of trees, but a town. The town they were going to. He glanced at the sun. They would be there in late afternoon.

"I'll be sad to see you go," Alfred said suddenly. "I don't like to think I'll never see you again after I drop you off at this town." He looked at Arthur. "I don't like leaving a debt unpaid."

"I thought I told you, if you find me a job I'll consider your debt repaid."

"I won't consider it as such," Alfred replied.

"What does it matter?" Arthur asked. "As you said yourself, you'll probably never see me again."

"I know, but a debt's a debt." Alfred's gaze was serious. "I won't forget it."

Arthur let out a little sigh. "Is that why the townspeople all trust you so much? You're an honest man?" Alfred didn't say anything. Arthur's graze drifted back to the horizon. "And you have a nice smile too," he mused. "I suppose that doesn't hurt." He heard Alfred make a little noise of surprise and Arthur suppressed a smile. "So what are you saying, then? If I don't go to this town, where will I go?"

"Anywhere. You said yourself a few nights ago that you didn't care where you went. I don't always hunt folk who are Wanted. I transport goods sometimes, like I'm doin' for the sheriff. I could use a hand like you."

That made Arthur look back at Alfred. "You're transporting goods for the sheriff? What sort of goods?"

Alfred nodded. "Yup. Didn't I tell ya? There are all sorts of things the people in that town need – medicine, dry goods, things like that which are hard to come by out here. It's something I bring them anyway, when I can, but they're too proud to ask for it straight out and they can't afford to pay me proper. So I offered to bring them to them for free."

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath. "For how long?"

"Long as I get my end of the deal, I reckon." He looked at Arthur. "You were just a bonus, of course."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Just a bonus to what?"

Alfred grinned. "Well that ain't any of your business, is it? You want to work with me or not? I'll split every job with you 50-50, as long as you do your share."

"Of course I will," Arthur said sharply, but he hesitated. "Though . . . I don't know."

"What? You don't know if you trust me?" Alfred looked hurt.

Arthur blushed a little at his brazenness. "Well, perhaps," he said a touch defensively. "I hardly know you."

"I hardly know you either, stranger, but I trust you."

"Somehow I doubt it," Arthur muttered. "You have no reason to trust me."

"You haven't given me one not to, either." Alfred's eyes met Arthur's calmly. "Though tell me, stranger, what are you running from?"

Arthur's grip on the reins tightened. "What? What do you mean?"

"The way I see it, there's two reasons people come this far out West." Alfred's gaze didn't waver from Arthur's. "Either they're lookin' for something, or they're running from something. Folks like you and me? We don't have anything to look for."

"And you?" Arthur returned challengingly. His heart was pounding in his chest. "What are you running from?"

Alfred's expression came the closest to a frown that Arthur had seen so far. "I_ was _running. I ain't anymore. Besides, it don't concern you."

"It is if I'm going to be working with you!"

Alfred cocked his head to one side with a slight smile. "I thought you didn't know if you were taking the job."

Arthur scowled. "I still don't."

"Why don't you give it a chance?"

Arthur turned back to the horizon. "I won't guarantee anything. If you can offer me a better deal than the other people in this town, I'll take it." He looked at Alfred side-long. "You had better be prepared to bargain."

Alfred grinned and doffed his hat in mock-politeness. "I can give you the best bargain you've ever seen. Don't you doubt it, Arthur. I'm the best there is."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>I apologize if this comes across as a filler chapter. I'm just trying to be consistent about chapter length and it was too long to tack onto the next one.


	5. Louis Collins took a trip out west

_Chapter 5: Louis Collins took a trip out west_

It was a real town, with a proper inn and saloon and a mayor's office. Alfred headed straight for the saloon. They tied their horses up and went inside. It was a rowdy place, full of people and laughter and talk. Alfred swung up on a stool and smacked the counter with his palm. "The usual," he called to the bartender, who saw him and nodded.

The bartender brought over his drink with a friendly smile and leaned on the counter. "Hey, Al. How you been? We just saw you here a few days ago."

"I know. I just had something that needed taking care of," he said easily, and took a sip of his drink. Arthur frowned slightly at his response and the bartender's eyes flickered over to him.

"And what's your name?"

"My name is Arthur." He returned the bartender's curious gaze steadily.

The bartender noted his accent with some surprise. "A stranger to these parts, are you?" His gaze slid over to Alfred, the unspoken words obvious: _Can he be trusted? _"What are you doin' here?"

"He saved my life," Alfred answered for him. "He's with me."

The bartender grinned. "Well, it's settled then, ain't it? No better way to prove you're trustworthy." He slapped Arthur on the back, hard, nearly smashing his nose into the counter. "So what brings you here, stranger?"

Arthur straightened with a grimace, resisting the urge to rub his stinging shoulder. "I'm looking for work."

The bartender raised an eyebrow and began polishing an empty glass. "Work? Why, what sort?"

"Any sort I can get."

The bartender laughed out loud, startling Arthur. "Why are you _lookin', _then? Don't you know you've got all the work you could ever need right here?" He gestured to Alfred, who looked embarrassed.

Arthur blinked. "Pardon?"

"Alfred don't work with partners often, but if you saved his life as he says you did, he might let you on. He's never failed a job for as long as I've known him, longer even, and he takes on all sorts. He's got a sort of a reputation, you might say, as a good bet." He winked at Arthur. "Makes a sight more money than I do."

"Only on a good week," Alfred mumbled.

"Don't try to be modest, I know you have a hard time with it," the bartender said teasingly. Alfred muttered something under his breath and turned a bit pink. Someone else came up to the bar and the bartender turned away to get them what they wanted.

"Guess we'd best get started looking for some work for you, then," Alfred said, still looking embarrassed. "We'll come back here, don't worry." Alfred slid off his stool and headed for the exit. Arthur followed him.

It was still bright outside, though the shadows of the buildings were beginning to lengthen and cover the road. People thronged the streets, going in and out of shops and yelling at their neighbors. The dust stuck to his boots, and judging from the appearance of everyone else on the street, it got everywhere. "Where are we going first?" he asked, his eyes flickering up into blue ones.

"There's a rancher who lives here. He's got a herd a few miles that way." Alfred pointed. "A rancher's always in need of a good hand."

They reached a house with two stories and a new coat of paint. A man was sitting on a chair on its long porch, smoking a pipe and talking to a man beside him. "Hey there," Alfred called with a wave.

"Hey there yourself," the man in the chair said with a smile. "You need a job, Al? I ain't gonna be driving cattle till late spring."

Alfred didn't come up on the porch, but he hooked a heel through the lower railing and leaned on it. "I know. As it happens, I was wondering if you could take on another hand." He nodded at Arthur. "My friend Arthur here needs a job. He's a hard worker, quiet, won't waste his money on drink."

Arthur wasn't sure whether he wanted to frown or laugh out loud at Alfred's completely fictitious qualifications. He settled for putting his hands in his pockets and trying to look serious. _So this is how he wins over people, is it? I suppose even being a good storyteller can have its uses out here. _

The man hesitated. "At the moment I don't have need of any more hands. . . ."

"Hypothetically, what would you pay him?"

The man raised an eyebrow. "Hypothetically? That's an awfully long word for a fellow like yourself." He took a long draw from his pipe and thought. He named a price. It was certainly higher than what Arthur had been living off of.

"And how often would Arthur have to work?"

"Every day, of course, until the season was done." _Oh. _

"What sort of work?"

The man looked at Alfred like he had gone crazy. "Ridin', fighting off rustlers, keeping the animals together, making sure they don't stray too far?"

Alfred nodded. "Thank you for your time." Then he grabbed Arthur by the hand and dragged him down the road. Arthur spluttered and tried to take his hand back, but Alfred was having none of it. Actually, Alfred didn't even seem to notice. "Next we'll visit Thomas. He don't pay as much, but you get to stay inside and be cool all day." He flashed Arthur a grin. "Don't that sound nice?"

Half an hour later, Arthur had watched Alfred interview four different men. The jobs ranged from wiping tables to riding as a guard for the mail coach. A sinking feeling was developing in Arthur's stomach. Alfred had to have something good up his sleeve, because even shoveling horse manure here paid more than Arthur had earned keeping inventory of the general store back at the outpost. Alfred made it clear in his own little way that he didn't consider any of the jobs competition, for he never talked down the other employers and he always seemed to be honestly advocating Arthur as a good worker. They came out of another store and Alfred actually stood still for a moment. He looked at Arthur and Arthur resisted letting out a sigh of relief: They were done. "Ready for a drink?" Alfred asked.

Oh, Arthur was more than ready. Arthur wanted to get quite a few drinks and then get very, very drunk. But he just muttered, "Sure," and obediently followed Alfred back to the saloon where they had started.

The bartender gave them a knowing look and slid over two drinks without being asked. Arthur took a quick swallow and then set the glass down. "Alright," he said to Alfred with a frown, "I've seen the competition. What's your bargain?"

Arthur lit up. "You know how much money you were gonna get per month for bein' a ranch hand?" Arthur nodded warily. "I can earn twice that in a good week. I'm in the saddle a lot and the work isn't always easy, but it's worth it. I take fair work only so I get paid fair. If you do your share of the work, I'll split it with you 50-50, of course. I reckon we can earn three times what I make on average now, if we work it right."

Arthur looked at his drink and scowled. _You make it sound like the only disadvantage is that you're always on the move – not mentioning, of course, that your life is probably constantly in danger. _"No fixed pay?"

"No fixed pay, but I promise I'll make it worth your while. Like I said, on a good week I do great."

Arthur stared determinedly at his drink as he swirled it in his hand. "And a bad week?"

"A bad week?" Alfred shrugged. "We live on beans like any ranch hand and maybe we get shot at a little." _There we go, _thought Arthur. "It's better than what you'll find some places."

Arthur was silent. Every logical part of him was telling him to stay in town, lie low, and take a job that paid steadily. Every other part of him was telling him that if he didn't go with Alfred, he was going to regret it for the rest of his life. He was tired of lying low. He was tired of always taking the safe bet. Arthur made the mistake of looking up at Alfred and swore inwardly. Somehow Alfred's confident smile had been melted by Arthur's long silence, and now Alfred was looking pitiful and worried and hopeful all at the same time. _And of course you and those blue eyes have to make it sound like it's the best deal ever._

"You want to risk it with me?" Alfred's eyes were too big and his tone too hopeful. "50-50, I swear it, and I won't ever let you go hungry."

"Of course I'll take it," Arthur snapped and gripped his drink too tightly. "You aren't exactly giving me anything I could bargain _for_."

Alfred whooped and punched the air in victory. "Hey," he called to the bartender, far too loudly for Arthur's liking, "He's in!"

The bartender chuckled and came over to them. "Glad to hear it. So," he continued, and leaned on the counter, "What kind of job were you thinking?"

Alfred cocked his head to one side and swirled his drink around, suddenly too casual. "Do you know of anyone who needs goods transported?"

The bartender looked at him steadily. "I might. That's a hard job, this time of year. Soon it's gonna get cold."

"It's not so late yet," Alfred returned. "It still feels almost like summer."

The bartender shrugged. "As you like. Berwald might have something for you."

Alfred flashed him a grin. "Thanks." He gulped down the rest of his drink and scattered some change on the counter. "Till next time." The bartender grabbed the change and nodded before turning to his next customer. Alfred stood up and stretched. He sighed contentedly and then looked at Arthur with a glint in his eye. "You ready to bargain, for real this time?"

"Of course," said Arthur, and slid off his stool.

"Right. Then let's go."

* * *

><p>Alfred was glad to be back in town. He had passed through it every time he had visited Matt, so the people knew him. It wasn't like Matt's outpost, where everyone provided for themselves and their friends only. Here, there were people he could understand: True businessmen. Spend a little time getting to know them, bargain with them a little, and they could get you anything you wanted. Yes, sometimes they ridiculed his insistence on "honesty," but they could at least respect his choices. They didn't admire him here, and that was fine. It was easier that way.<p>

"In a town like this," he explained to Arthur, "There aren't enough people for everyone to have proper jobs. A lot of folk do several things at once, and Berwald's one of those. He works as a tanner and can make pretty much anything out of a piece of leather, but he's also one of the sheriff's right-hand men."

"I see," said Arthur. "Is he a good shot?"

Alfred chuckled nervously. "I've never had occasion to find out. He's . . . more of the sort who can make a crowd behave just by lookin' at them." He grinned at Arthur's doubtful look. "You'll see."

When they entered the dim tanner's shop, for a moment it seemed as if no one was there. Alfred strode inside anyway. "Hellooo," he called as he walked straight up to the counter. Arthur followed at a slight distance, taking the shop in as he did so. The walls were covered with rough-hewn shelves and hooks. Saddles, straps, boots and satchels were neatly displayed on every available surface. There were only two windows, a small one at the front of the shop and an even smaller one by the front counter. They had been neatly cleaned.

"Just a moment," came a light voice from the back. The little curtain to the left of the counter was brushed aside and a young man – a boy, really – appeared. He smiled brightly when he saw them. "Hello Al," he said cheerfully.

"Hello, Tino," Alfred said amiably. He approached Tino with a smile. "Is Berwald in?"

Tino crossed his arms, though he didn't stop smiling. "Is there something you'd like to discuss? Anything you want to discuss with him, you can discuss with me first."

Alfred's smile weakened. He had never quite understand how their relationship operated, and he was always a little hesitant to trust someone who at least appeared to be so young, but . . . "Ha, yeah. I heard he had a job."

Tino cocked his head. "What kind of job?"

"Uuuh, transporting goods?" Alfred really hoped that the bartender had known what he was talking about.

"Hmm," said Tino.

"W'fe?" came a voice from the back. "S'm'ne h're?"

Tino whipped his head around. "Yes, they're talking about a job."

"Did he just call him wife?" Arthur murmured to Alfred.

"Yeah, I think so," Alfred replied. He bit his lip. These people were so confusing.

A second man appeared from behind the curtain. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a leather apron. He gave Alfred and Arthur a _look _through his eyeglasses that froze them where they stood. He had light blond hair and blue eyes like Tino, but while the combination looked almost angelic on Tino, it made Berwald's gaze seem like it was made of ice. " 'lo," he said.

"Hey, Berwald," Alfred said slightly nervously, turning the charm on as much as he could under the circumstances. "I heard you had some work that needed doin', transporting or the like, and you know there's no one more trustworthy than _me_–" He patted his chest for emphasis.

"C'me t' the back r'm," said Berwald. He turned and disappeared into the back. Tino beckoned the two men to follow as he disappeared behind the curtain as well. Alfred gave Arthur a quick glance before following them.

The back room was bigger than might have been expected, but it was also obviously where Berwald and Tino practiced their trade. Tanned hides were hung from the ceiling and a sharp knife lay on a small table where it was clear they had been cutting leather cord. Berwald turned and looked at them steadily. " 's hard job," he said. " 'ountains."

"You need stuff taken over the mountain pass?" Alfred hazarded. "Hey, that's no problem. It's not too cold yet, haha!"

" 's dang'r's."

"We'll be _fine_," Alfred said with a wave of his hand. "If you just show us what you've got, we'll get start–"

"If you loose it," Tino cut in, "We'll have to shoot you."

The room went dead silent. Alfred's brain tried to process the words and the tone of voice. _Serious . . . or joking. _He could tell that Arthur's jaw had dropped. Tino wasn't smiling anymore. "Er," said Alfred.

Under the table was a chest. Berwald pulled it out in one swift motion, though it grated along the floor with its weight. Tino unlocked it with a key tied around his neck and flipped open the lid. Arthur and Alfred stared.

Gold. Not little flakes of it, not coins, but bars and bars of gold. Alfred cleared his throat and was the first to break the silence. "It's kinda heavy, ain't it?" he asked, his voice squeaking a little at the end.

" 's a b't," Berwald said. He snapped the lid shut and the lock clicked back into place. He pushed it back under the table and then straightened to his full height. "Y'll t'ke the j'b." It wasn't a question.

"We need you to transport it across the mountains to the bank on the other side," Tino said. "A group of men took it from the Vargas brothers a few weeks back and we reckon that's the bank they stole it from. The sheriff gave it to us to safeguard, but it's been here long enough. He would have called the federal marshal in, but . . ." Tino shrugged. "You know how that goes. This is less conspicuous. You won't be paid as much as the gold's worth, but I think you'll agree that your lives are worth more than stealing it would be, don't you?" Tino smiled sweetly. Alfred nodded in hurried agreement. "You'll be paid half before, half after. We can negotiate prices in a moment."

"And when do you want it transported?" Alfred asked, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down his neck. It was always so stifling in buildings like this. Why was that, he wondered?

Tino shrugged. "As soon as possible. We expect it delivered in a timely fashion."

Alfred could handle _that, _at least. He waved away the demand. "It'll be delivered before you know it."

"So, you'll be here to pick it up tomorrow, say, before dawn?" Tino asked.

"Sounds good," Alfred said. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure doing business with ya."

Tino smiled. "Right. Here's how much we're willing to pay you." Berwald took out a small pouch and dumped a pile of coins on the table.

"Oh," said Alfred.

When they left, Arthur's face was white as a sheet. "But he looks so harmless," he mumbled to himself.

"Tino? Ha, yeah, that kid will fool ya," Alfred said, too lightheartedly. All that gold sitting in a town like this? It was clear they were both thinking the same thing: Tino, Berwald, and the sheriff must be insane.

* * *

><p>Alfred told Arthur he would meet him back at the saloon in an hour after he had stocked up on supplies. Arthur readily agreed to that and decided to wander the town a bit. It wasn't long before he found a hat shop – a real one, not the sorry excuse for a clothing store they had back at the outpost. He pushed open the door and went inside.<p>

The top hats caught his eye first. After staring at them enviously for a moment, he forced himself over to the "working hat" section. There was only one that even remotely appealed to his sense of style. It was made of white felt and not nearly as impressive as Alfred's ten-gallon, but it would serve its purpose. Actually, he decided when he glanced at himself in the small shop mirror, it almost suited him.

He found a shop that sold boots, so he bought a pair. His own were worn and made for walking, not riding. The shopkeeper pointed out a pair of spurs and Arthur hesitated, but he finally let the shopkeeper sell those to him too. He had a fair amount of money saved up, and if Alfred's generalizations and implications were anything to go on, investing in this gear was worthwhile.

Alfred showed up at the saloon a bit later than he had said he would. He found Arthur sitting outside on the dirt. When Arthur saw him, he stood up and dusted off the seat of his trousers. Alfred grinned and touched his hat as he approached in a mock-salute. "Nice hat," he called.

"Thanks," replied Arthur. He went over to their horses and pulled the worn leather hat out of his saddle bag. "You can have yours back," he said, and tossed it to Alfred.

Alfred caught it and stuffed it back into his own saddle bag with a shrug. "Never know when it will come in handy," he said. "Now, what do you think about getting something to eat?"

"I could do with some food."

"Me too!" Alfred patted his stomach and made a pained expression. "I'm starved. I know just the place."

The "place" was loud and crowded. Alfred had to fight his way through the crowd to buy food for the two of them. They ended up with some sort of bean and meat soup with a bit of bread. Arthur took a tentative spoonful, but it didn't taste as horrible as it looked. Alfred went back for seconds. Arthur saw a woman flirt wit Alfred on his way up to the counter, but Alfred just laughed and somehow shrugged her off. _Interesting, _Arthur thought, cleaning his bowl with the hard piece of bread. _I would have thought him quite the ladies' man. _

Alfred came back to the table with a full plate. He was smiling. "Whatchya lookin' at?" he asked Arthur curiously as he sat down.

Arthur hadn't realized that he had been staring. He looked away. "Nothing. I didn't realize you ate so much."

"Yeah, and I'm not done yet! Living off bread for almost two days? Eech. Didn't you notice me eatin' two loaves for dinner last night?"

"I guess I didn't," Arthur said with a slight smile. "I believe it now."

Alfred chuckled. "There's a smile. Haven't seen one of those in a while." Alfred ripped a piece of bread in two and scooped up some of the soup with it.

Arthur looked at him, surprised, but before he could say anything he heard a desperate "Alfred!" from behind him. He turned around and Alfred looked up.

"Tino," Alfred said in surprise. "What are you doin' here?"

"Plans have changed," Tino said. He put both hands on their table and leaned against it. He was clearly catching his breath. "They're back."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "The Vargas brothers?"

Tino nodded. "Someone saw them just outside of town."

"They wouldn't be crazy enough to try to steal it back," Alfred said. "Right?"

"Not in broad daylight, no," said Tino. "It's almost dusk. You need to move. Now."

"Right," Alfred said. He quickly downed the rest of his soup and stood up. He eyed Arthur. "How tired are you?"

Arthur stood up too. "I can wait to sleep."

Alfred nodded and turned back to Tino. "We'll grab the horses and drop by to pick it up. We'll ride for as much of the night as we can. What side of town were they spotted on?"

"West. You'll be riding east anyway."

"Right." Alfred clapped Tino on the shoulder. "Don't worry about the goods. We'll take care of them." Tino nodded and left. "Let's go," Alfred said to Arthur.

They grabbed their horses and rode over to the tanner's shop. Berwald was waiting for them with some leather packages. Alfred took a few and stuffed them into the saddlebags. Tino handed one to Arthur and he nearly dropped it, he was so surprised at the weight. There were ten bars in all. _Alfred had better know what he's doing, _Arthur thought. _If anyone finds out, we're walking targets. _The thought sent a shiver down his back. They mounted their horses and after Alfred gave the two men a quick salute, they rode off.

The horses walked quietly through town. The light was quickly dimming. No one seemed to think much of their leaving. They hadn't been there long enough for anyone to notice them.

Once they were out of sight of the sentry at the main road, Alfred eased his horse up through the gaits. Arthur did the same until they were galloping, the wind whipping his hair back from his eyes. The air was cold and it woke him up. The sun disappeared completely behind the horizon, taking its rays with it, but they didn't stop. Though it was dark, Alfred seemed to know where they were going – or at least, he knew where they needed to get away from. Before the horses started to breathe too hard, Alfred called out to Arthur. "We can walk now," he yelled over the rush of the wind and the pounding of hooves. "We won't stop for a while yet, but the horses will tire too easily like this." Arthur nodded and pulled his horse down into a walk. Alfred did likewise and gave his horse a scratch between the ears. "Good girl," Arthur heard him murmur. "You're a good girl."

The stars came out. Arthur nearly dozed off in the saddle several times, but every time he forced himself to sit up straight and glance over at Alfred, Alfred looked wide awake and alert. Arthur tried thinking very hard about things, about plans, about what going back over the mountain pass would be like, but his thoughts continued to drift. He opened his mouth to talk, because if he didn't he really was going to fall asleep, and then he was going to fall off his horse like an idiot. So he said the first thing that came to mind. "What are you thinking about?"

The response was immediate, as if Alfred wasn't surprised that he wanted to talk. "Matthew," Alfred said.

"Oh." Maybe it was because Arthur was so tired, or because they were riding alone at night running from robbers, but the questions didn't seem rude anymore. "What about him?"

"Just memories." There was a moment of silence. Arthur could feel his horse swaying underneath him, soothingly. He watched Alfred. Alfred was looking straight ahead, or maybe a bit up from straight ahead, at the stars. "I haven't really cried for him yet, you know."

Arthur accepted the confession without comment. He looked up at the stars, and up, and up. How had he missed them the night before? He had forgotten how beautiful the stars were, out here.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

Arthur blinked and looked at Alfred. Alfred was looking at him, though his eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Yes," said Arthur. "They never looked so bright in London, or even in town. Actually, in London . . . they were always obscured by the smoke and soot."

Alfred nodded. "Night never really comes in places where people are. You have to be out here, alone."

They both looked up at the stars again. "You know," Arthur said quietly. "I've always thought that the dead probably don't mind too much if we mourn for them."

Alfred tried to be quiet, but Arthur could hear him. He cried, his head bent over his reins and his hands, and the tears dripped down. For a while he cried so hard Arthur thought his heart would break. The sad, lonely sound drifted through the air. Arthur felt a few tears on his own cheeks, but he brushed them quickly away.

It was a long time before they stopped riding. They were near a small rock outcropping when Alfred suddenly stopped his horse and dismounted. When he started unloading things to make camp, Arthur dismounted too and helped him. "I'll take first watch," Alfred said, and sat down firmly at the entrance to the tent. Arthur lay down in the tent with the gold and fell asleep almost immediately. When Alfred woke him, his voice was gruff and Arthur could tell that his throat was raw from sobbing. "Wake me at first light," he said, and took up Arthur's position. Arthur put on his boots and went outside the tent. He sat down on Alfred's bedroll and watched the stars until dawn broke. Then he went and shook Alfred awake, gently. Alfred didn't smile.


	6. When he returned

_Chapter 6: When he returned_

The next morning, they spoke very little. They had breakfast and then Alfred started readying the horses. "We ride hard all day," Alfred said. "The Vargas brothers don't take no for an answer, and if they knew the gold was in that town they'll know that whoever has it now will be heading for the mountain pass. If they don't catch us by nightfall we can breathe a little easier. Tomorrow we'll start the climb."

They did ride hard, barely stopping at midday to eat something and water the horses the best they could. It was mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, when Alfred started acting strange. He kept kind of glancing over his shoulder, almost like he was flicking away dirt, and then stare long and hard at the land before them. Arthur glanced back a few times too, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The morning chill was long since gone and the sun made the land ripple in its heat, obscuring anything on the horizon. Still, Alfred was making Arthur nervous.

"Here's what we're going to do," Alfred said suddenly. "We're going to ride hard for that rock up there, you see it? At best we'll lose 'em, at worse we'll have a place to make a stand for it."

Arthur nearly turned all the way around in his saddle trying to look at the horizon behind them. "They're following us?"

"Them or somebody else, and I don't care to risk it on the somebody else."

And then Arthur could see it: A dark spot on the horizon that was kicking up enough dust to almost obscure itself. Arthur took a deep breath. "Alright."

"Now," said Alfred, and they both nudged their horses faster and faster until they were galloping. Arthur bent his head lower over his horse's neck and squinted through the wind and the dust. They were both breathing hard when they finally reached the rock outcropping Alfred had pointed out. Alfred wheeled his horse around and regarded their pursuers. Arthur turned his horse more slowly and his heart leapt into his throat.

There were three men. They could be seen clearly now, despite the cloud of dust their horses were kicking up. The two on the right wore hats and leather vests. The one on the left was taller, bareheaded, and wore a simple white shirt. All three looked like they had a purpose.

"You still have your revolver?"

Arthur quick pulled it out of its holster and checked it. "Yes. Fully loaded."

"Good." Alfred's eyes were still trained on the three men. He pulled a pistol out of a holster that Arthur hadn't even realized he was wearing. "Now, I have a rifle, but I'm not going to use it because I'm not the sort to shoot first and ask later, you understand?"

"I understand." Arthur didn't put his revolver away. "Are they the Vargas brothers?"

"Those two on the right?" Alfred pointed with his pistol. "Almost certainly. With luck they won't think to ask us more than if we've seen some folk with some gold pass by." Somehow Arthur didn't think that was very likely, and judging from Alfred's tone, he didn't either. They were getting closer. "Alright," Alfred said in a lower voice. "I'll do the talking. Don't shoot unless I do."

Arthur cocked his revolver in reply.

The men stopped just within shooting distance. Alfred rested the hand with his pistol on his leg, in clear view. The man on the left was doing similarly. Strangely enough, he was also smiling. It was a lazy smile that fit with his simple, careless clothes. He was more heavily tanned than the other two and his hair was coffee-brown. He had green eyes that squinted in the sun. There was something in the way that he carelessly held his gun that made him look by far the most dangerous.

The other two were clearly brothers, though one was smiling happily while the other was not. The dark-haired grumpy one in the middle pulled out a gun and leaned it against his shoulder. He scowled at Arthur and Alfred. "Who are you _bastardos?" _he called out.

"My name's Alfred, this is Arthur," Alfred called back calmly. He didn't move.

"Yeah?" said the grumpy one. "And what do you have in the saddle bags?"

"What anyone out here needs: Bedrolls, coffee, tin cups." Alfred's horse shifted underneath him.

"I'm supposed to believe that, am I?" He brought his gun down from his shoulder and pointed it at Alfred. "Get off the horse."

"I don't see any reason to," Alfred said. "We don't have anything you want."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Oh, you might." He waved his gun. "Get off the fucking horse."

"Ve, Lovino, you don't need to swear," said the happy one, though he was frowning slightly now. "Just ask. Alfred, are you going over the mountains?"

"You're supposed to _ask_ him where he's _going_, not tell him what the fuck we're talking about," Lovino snapped.

"Loviiii, I didn't mention the _gold,_" the other one whined, and then clamped a hand over his mouth with a snap. His eyes went wider than Arthur had thought possible.

"FELICIANO!" Lovino bellowed, unintentionally lowering his gun.

"_Mi tomate,_" the third one said calmly, "Perhaps you should be pointing your gun elsewhere."

"Antonio . . ." Lovino began in a growl, but after glancing at him he seemed to decide there were more important things at hand. He pointed his gun at Alfred again. "Off the horse. Now."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Alfred said calmly. Arthur's mouth was pressed in a thin line and sweat was beginning to drip down the back of his neck. The heat was sweltering, even in the shade of the rock with the sun at their backs. _The sun at their backs. _Suddenly Arthur understood: Alfred was giving them every advantage he possibly could. Arthur shifted his head imperceptibly to the left and then the right. There, on the right immediately next to Alfred, was a large boulder big enough to hide two people. He could see space between the boulder and the rock outcropping behind them. If the shooting started, they had cover.

Antonio raised his gun and casually pointed it at Arthur. "You can, and you will."

"Yeah, what he says," Lovino says. "Both of you." Then Antonio shot the ground between their horses and Alfred fired back.

Arthur's horse immediately skittered sideways to the left, away from the shots and away from Alfred. Arthur tried to drag the horse back over to Alfred and cover, but it refused. It was clearly not used to gunfire and it tossed its head in fear. He glanced over at Alfred, who kept ducking and then firing again, apparently trying to avoid Lovino and Antonio's combined fire. _His_ horse was perfectly fine, perhaps shifting a little on its feet and twitching its ears at the sharp sounds. Arthur gritted his teeth and pushed his left spur firmly into his horse's side. They needed to get to cover.

It felt like for forever, but it only took a few seconds for Arthur to drag his horse over to Alfred. They were within arm's reach of each other. Alfred was still firing, but when he saw Arthur he yelled, "Dismount!" and slid off his horse. He quickly pulled his horse behind the boulder and began reloading. Without Alfred to shoot at, the three men quickly focused on Arthur. His horse balked and attempted to run. All of Arthur's attention was suddenly focused on merely keeping his horse in one place and not falling off. He ducked at more gunfire and his horse skittered to one side.

Suddenly strong arms looped around his middle and Alfred was pulling him out of his saddle. "Get!" Alfred yelled and pushed Arthur towards the boulder. He followed, dragging Arthur's horse along behind him. Arthur pressed himself against the cool rock, panting, as Alfred hurriedly ducked behind the boulder as well. Arthur's horse had come surprisingly easily, and though it was still tossing its head and prancing nervously, being near Alfred's calm horse seemed to reassure it. Alfred pressed its reins into Arthur's hands. "Don't let your horse get shot," he yelled over gunfire, and then stood up and fired.

Arthur got a firm grip on his revolver and peeked around the edge of the rock. Lovino seemed to be firing methodically at their hiding place and it was unclear what Feliciano was doing, but Antonio suddenly looked more awake and took careful aim at one of them. Arthur ducked behind the rock, heard the shot pass through thin air, then quickly took aim at Antonio and fired.

It took a while for Arthur to figure out what Feliciano was up to. At the first shot he had cried out, but he had since taken a gun out of its holster and was now holding it tentatively. Every now and then he'd take a shot, apparently at random, but he was slowly nudging his horse farther and farther out of Arthur's line of sight. It suddenly dawned on Arthur that if Feliciano kept nudging, pretty soon he'd be able to see around the back of the boulder and have a clear shot at Arthur and Alfred.

The dirt was cool underneath Arthur's knees. He could feel Alfred's left hand pressed firmly into his shoulder as he used it for support, half crouching, half standing to fire over the top of the boulder. A bullet whizzed past Arthur's ear. Arthur immediately turned and fired, getting a look at Feliciano's position as he did so. Feliciano was out of his range of sight.

Arthur pulled back behind the boulder, swung himself around Alfred, and fired out from behind the other side. His eyes met Felicano's wide ones for a moment, and then Feliciano dropped his gun and dragged his horse away with a whimper. Feliciano kicked his horse into a lope and retreated, calling over his shoulder, "Lovi! Lovi!" Suddenly there was no more gunfire, then a lone shot, and then three horses with their riders were kicking up dust as they faded into the distance.

Arthur slumped back against the boulder and Alfred's legs. He looked up at Alfred. Alfred was staring after the men, his gun dangling from one hand, his reins from the other. His hat had gotten knocked off and he was breathing heavily. He looked down at Arthur. "Y'okay?" he asked hoarsely.

Arthur realized his breathing was coming fast as well, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to slow it. "I think so. Are you?"

Alfred wiped his forehead with the back of his arm and nodded. He offered Arthur a hand and Arthur took it. Once Arthur was standing, Alfred picked his hat up from the ground. He dusted it off, inspected it, and then put it back on. He remounted and urged his horse back the way they had been going. Arthur finally looked at his horse, the first time he had done so since he had dismounted, and saw that it was now perfectly calm. It perked its ears at him. He gave it a disapproving looking and pulled himself up into the saddle.

Arthur reloaded his revolver as they rode. He put the last cartridge in and closed it with a satisfactory _click. _He holstered it and saw Alfred watching him.

"You shot well," Alfred said.

Arthur shrugged. "I cannot say for certain that I shot Feliciano. I may have just scared him."

"Don't matter. They left us alone." Alfred smiled tiredly.

"Won't they be back?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but there's a fair chance we can outride them anyway. They've been riding harder than we have and their horses can't take it. The best they can hope for is that the pass slows us down so as they can surprise us. As long as we don't let that happen, we're good."

Arthur nodded. "Alright." They were quiet for a moment. Something nagged at Arthur that he couldn't quite place. He studied Alfred out of the corner of his eye. Alfred didn't appear to be in pain, his horse was fine, and his saddlebags were still intact. He sat up straight as he always did, but. . . . "Look at me," Arthur said suddenly.

"What?" Alfred looked at him in surprise. Arthur saw that he had a small cut on his cheek just below his eye. Was that all? Had Alfred been squinting slightly because of the pain and Arthur had picked up on it? For a moment he was filled with relief, but then he narrowed his eyes. No, that was not it. Alfred was holding his reins with only one hand.

"Stop," said Arthur, and Alfred was so surprised he actually stopped his horse. Arthur rode around to his front and looked at him. Sure enough, there was blood slowly seeping through his sleeve. Arthur made a _tsk_-ing noise. He rode so their horses were parallel and they were facing each other, and then he frowned into Alfred's surprised eyes. "You're injured."

"Oh, it's nothing," Alfred said, and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "We should keep riding–"

"Nonsense," Arthur said firmly, and got a good grip on Alfred's sleeve with both hands. "We can take a few minutes' break."

"Woah there!" said Alfred, and he clamped his good hand over Arthur's. "You don't need to tear up my shirt. Fine, we can stop, but not right here and just for a minute, okay?" He glanced quickly at their surroundings and nodded to a pile of boulders some distance away. "Over there."

Arthur relinquished his grip on Alfred's sleeve and turned his horse around obediently. Clearly despite Alfred's reassuring words earlier, he was just as concerned about being ambushed by a certain three men as Arthur was. They stopped by the boulders and dismounted.

"There's bandages there in the left pocket," Alfred said to Arthur. "It should stop bleeding soon on its own, though." Arthur just frowned at the last comment and fetched the bandages. Alfred sat down on the ground with a sigh. Once Arthur had the bandages, he sat down next to Alfred. Alfred looked back at him with an unhappy twist of his lips – almost like a sullen child, Arthur thought, and had to suppress a smile. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. Alfred sighed heavily and pulled off his shirt.

Arthur blinked. Alfred was fitter than he had expected, though he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; all the work Alfred had mentioned that he did was physically demanding and required great stamina. Before he could stop himself, his eyes roamed over the tanned chest and well-toned arms. He blushed, quickly averted his eyes, and busied himself with unrolling the bandage. _You're an idiot, Arthur, _he thought as he looked around frantically for a knife to cut the bandage with. _You didn't expect him to be as attractive under his clothes as the rest of him is? Stop swooning and pull yourself together. _He stared firmly at the wound and began wrapping it.

A bullet had grazed Alfred's upper arm, leaving an angry red groove in his flesh. The blood was already clotting and drying and the wound seemed free of dirt, but if it was left uncovered it was more likely to become infected. Infection could mean death, especially out here. As he the fabric touched the wound, Alfred didn't even twitch, but Arthur knew that he had to be hurting him.

Alfred was staring off into the distance and Arthur gradually relaxed. He let his eyes wander slightly. There was a sharp tan line just above Alfred's elbow, presumably where he rolled up his sleeves to. His forearms were strong and heavily tanned. There was a scar on his shoulder. Arthur frowned. His back. . . . Arthur shifted his weight to get a better look. He stared. Alfred's back was covered in long scars.

Alfred noticed that he had stopped wrapping and glanced at him. "Oh, don't worry about those. They're old."

Arthur carefully touched one on Alfred's shoulder that was different from the others. Though the skin looked different, it was smooth under his fingers. The patch was small and irregular, but approximately round. The skin was still pink, not white like the others. "This one doesn't look so old."

"Oh, yeah, that one. I got shot there a while back."

Arthur remembered what he was supposed to be doing and finished tying the bandage. He sat back, but neither of them made to stand up. "Who did that to you?"

"What, who shot me? I don't even remember–"

"No. The others." Arthur swallowed. It looked as if Alfred had been whipped.

Alfred sighed and looked at his hands. "A man I hope I never see again. That–" He jerked his head towards his back. "That's what me and Matt were running from."

Arthur stared at him. "Your father did this to you?"

"Yep. You know me and Matt were half-brothers, right?" Arthur hadn't known, but now that he thought about it, Alfred's last name was different from Matthew's. "Jones was my mom's name. Matthew was the legitimate one. You'd have thought I'd be the one he would have hated, but. . . ." Alfred shrugged. "He beat Matt more than he beat me." He picked up his shirt and slid it over his head, then began to do up the last few buttons that had come undone. "I tried to protect Matt the best I could. When we looked old enough to be taken seriously, we ran away. Folks were nicer to us than you'd expect." While he digested this, Arthur wet a cloth and gently wiped away the blood on Alfred's cheek. Alfred winced slightly but didn't protest. Arthur sat back. Alfred saw his expression and smiled weakly. "It's all in the past."

The landscape became rockier. Arthur was hardly paying attention to the horizon before them anymore, preferring instead to check the land behind them. No dust clouds appeared, though, and they saw not another soul for the rest of the day.

"We should be there by nightfall," Alfred said several hours later. It was the first thing he'd said in a while.

"Where?"

"The mountains." Alfred pointed. Arthur looked, and really saw them for the first time.

They rose out of the ground, their sharp rock sides as barren as the land around them. They looked as though they had split through the earth, which perhaps they had. Their peaks stretched across the horizon and into the distance. Arthur could see the glint of snow far above them.

They rode on. Slowly, what had appeared to be sheer rock cliffs revealed themselves to be layers of rock outcrops with great distances between them. By dusk, they were in their shadows. They made camp and had beans and toast for dinner. Alfred chuckled as Arthur took his first bite. "Your first real western meal. Don't worry, the novelty wears off real quick. We'll be eating a lot more beans over the next few days."

It was cold that night. The stars were very bright.


	7. Little Delia had gone to rest

_Author's note: _Updates are going to be a bit slower since I'm at college/university now. I was hoping this chapter wouldn't suffer, but it ended up being a bit later than usual anyway. 'orz I think an update every two weeks, rather that once a week, is going to be more realistic. (No worries about me not continuing the story, though.) Also, I changed some of the chapter titles so they flow better. I had been trying to make each chapter match its title in theme, but that just wasn't working. :) Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 7: Little Delia had gone to rest<em>

They rode through the mountains all day. Alfred had Arthur go first up the narrow trail with the explanation that Arthur's horse was more likely to stumble, so Alfred could catch him if he fell. It wasn't as if Arthur believed him (Alfred could tell that he didn't from the distrusting look he shot Alfred after a few minutes of riding), but that was fine. Arthur didn't protest or demand a better explanation, so Alfred didn't give him one. The truth was that if anyone attacked them from behind, Alfred was in the best position to defend both of them.

The air was getting cooler, but the sun was still bright among the rocks. Despite his hat, Alfred squinted against the sun. He had a nice view of Arthur's back, and other parts of him besides. _He is kinda cute, isn't he? _Alfred thought with a smile. _How old can he be, anyway? Late twenties? Not so bad, not so bad at all. _

Arthur glanced over his shoulder slightly, clearly trying to be subtle about it. Alfred grinned and waved at him. Arthur huffed and hurriedly looked back to where they were going. _Aw, ain't he sweet, _Alfred thought, still grinning at the back of Arthur's head. _Checking on me to make sure I'm still here. _"Hey sweetheart," Alfred called, "I ain't gonna get lost or nothin'. I'll still be here when we stop for lunch, unless a rock jumps out and eats me."

Arthur hunched his shoulders and made no response. His ears were quickly turning red from embarrassment. Alfred chuckled quietly. "Is this too much fun or what?" he murmured to his horse. His horse just snorted.

That night, it was very cold. Arthur's shivers were obvious, even when they sat close to the fire. Something more than the cold was clearly bothering him, though; Alfred could tell. Alfred bit into his beans on toast and waited. Arthur's frown deepened, then lessened, then deepened again. There was a long silence. Finally: "It's very cold tonight."

"Yes," Alfred said, wondering what this had to do with anything.

"We've already set up the tent."

"Yes?" Alfred's chewing slowed. _Is he dense? _

Arthur was clearly struggling with something. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "You should sleep in the tent," he said finally, frowning firmly at his toast. "It's much too cold."

Alfred grinned. "That's what you were trying to say? What, you thought I was going to let myself freeze to death out here?" Alfred chuckled. "We'll both sleep in the tent tonight. There's room."

"Oh," mumbled Arthur. He turned pink and busily ate his toast. Alfred couldn't stop grinning. _Cute as a button. An uptight, English button._

* * *

><p>When Arthur woke up at first light the next morning, he nearly groaned. He felt as if he hadn't slept at all. Alfred had kept him awake long into the night with his snoring and his warmth and his – well, his <em>presence, <em>and the cold hadn't helped. Arthur's back ached from sleeping on the hard ground and being tense from the cold. He winced as he shifted slightly and it protested.

Alfred was lying on his back and had somehow flung his right over Arthur's stomach without him noticing. Arthur stopped moving. He struggled with himself for several long minutes. He didn't want to wake Alfred, but he did _not _want Alfred to wake up and realize that Arthur had let him invade Arthur's personal space. Finally Arthur bit his lip and, in one quick movement, heaved Alfred's arm off of him.

Alfred rolled over and went back to sleep without even opening his eyes. Arthur sighed and put on his boots.

* * *

><p>They were riding down the mountain in the bright, early morning sun when Alfred noticed that Arthur appeared to be, well, miserable. At first Alfred couldn't understand this, since he had just had an excellent night of sleep and expected that Arthur had too, but then he realized that Arthur was hunched over and frowning because he was <em>still cold. <em>Personally, Alfred found the air rather invigorating, but Arthur clearly did not. Alfred noticed that the path was now wide enough for the two of them to easily ride abreast. He contemplated this for a moment, decided there was no harm in it, and nudged his horse up beside Arthur's. "So," said Alfred too loudly, making Arthur jump, "Nice morning, isn't it?"

Arthur let out a despairing puff of breath that turned white as soon as it left his mouth. "Clear," was all he had to say.

Alfred breathed in deep and puffed out his chest. "Refreshing, was what I was thinking of."

Arthur eyed him, trying to determine if he was joking or not. "I suppose."

"Did you know that I used to be afraid of the snow?"

Arthur blinked. "What?"

Alfred nodded seriously. "Yup. First time we had a snowy winter, I went outside when it was still too warm for the snow to stick. It stung my eyes and I thought I was dying." He grinned, and for a moment he thought that Arthur wasn't going to take the bait. Arthur stared at him with something that was a cross between horror and incredulity, but then, finally, Alfred's smile broke through.

Arthur's face smoothed out, his eyes softened, and he smiled. "You must have been an adorable child," he said, and something warm and bright settled in Alfred's chest.

"Why, of course," Alfred replied, still grinning. "Still am, aren't I?"

Arthur looked away, though he was still smiling. "A child, maybe."

They climbed for most of the day, but shortly before dusk the path began to lead downwards. A break in the rocks revealed them to be on the sheer side of a mountain. A valley lay spread out below them, seemingly only a short distance away. A stream ran down its middle, along which grew a sparse collection of trees. Beyond the valley rose mountains far higher than the ones they had just rode through. It took Alfred a moment to realize that Arthur had stopped.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Alfred asked as he pulled up alongside Arthur. They both looked out at the snow-covered peaks beyond the valley. "Do you see that spot there, a bit north of us? That's the pass." Arthur glanced at him, then to where he was pointing. "We'll spend the night in the valley tomorrow, and take the pass the day after that if we're lucky."

Arthur frowned. "Will it really take us that long to cross the valley? It doesn't seem very large."

Alfred glanced up uneasily at the mountains before them. From here, they looked delicate and beautiful. Beautiful they were, yes, but not delicate. "It is. Those peaks there, they dwarf everything. Men who don't take the pass die before they get halfway up. The valley is wider and longer than it looks."

Arthur nodded, though the slight frown still creased his face. He urged his horse forward and Alfred did the same.

* * *

><p>It snowed that night. It didn't fall hard or fast, but the temperature dropped precipitously and they could hear clumps of it slide down the roof of their tent. Arthur was shivering so violently his teeth were chattering, an experience he had never expected to have. Alfred noticed. Arthur had been awake for some time when he felt a warm arm wrap around him. At first he stiffened and thought that Alfred was tossing in his sleep again, but then the arm pulled him against a warm chest. "We'll get fur blankets tomorrow," Alfred murmured reassuringly. "There's a fur trader in these parts I know will give us a good deal if we can find him."<p>

Arthur just nodded and leaned in, just a little bit, into Alfred's warm arms.

* * *

><p>Riding down to the base of the valley took longer than Arthur had expected, and once there he understood why traveling to the pass would take the whole day. The mountains really did distort his perception of distance, and not only that, but the valley was in nearly permanent shade. The ground was slick with ice, frost, and the slush the snow from the night before had formed. They had to move slowly. They followed the icy river at the valley's base until they reached a bridge. They crossed the bridge one by one, leading their horses. Arthur nearly fell flat on his face because the wood was so slick with hidden ice and freezing water. They made it across safely, remounted, and continued on.<p>

It was hard to tell time there, but the sun had passed over their heads some time ago by the time Alfred let out a whoop. The sound gave Arthur a horrible start and he drew his gun immediately. It took him a moment to realize that the sound had been one of joy.

"Francis!" Alfred yelled into the seemingly empty valley. "I knew you'd be out here!"

"What in the blazes are you going on about?" Arthur snapped. He quickly holstered his revolver and tried to cover up his embarrassment with a scowl.

Alfred looked back at him, grinning. "Francis! He's here!" Alfred was pointing insistently at what seemed to be a dark collection of boulders at the base of the mountains. Arthur squinted and was about to ask, _"Where?" _when he noticed the smallest trail of smoke. Without further explanation, Alfred urged his horse up into a jog and headed straight for the smoking boulders.

Alfred had already dismounted by the time Arthur reached him. Alfred had tied his horse up to what had appeared to be a collection of dead branches, but was now clearly a hitching post. "Francis?" Alfred called into what Arthur now recognized as a black tent. Hearing no answer, Alfred, of course, walked straight into the unfamiliar tent.

Arthur hastily dismounted and led his horse over to where Alfred had just disappeared. "Alfred!" Arthur hissed into the tent. Despite the smoke, the fire was not visible and his eyes did not adjust quickly to the gloom. The tent was larger than it looked, he noticed, and as his eyes adjusted he realized that the tent actually opened into a cave.

"Yeah, he's not here," Alfred said as he suddenly reappeared by Arthur's elbow. Arthur jumped but Alfred didn't seem to notice. "He's obviously still in the valley, but his horse is gone so I figure he's hunting." Alfred shrugged. "Tie up your horse outside. We can wait here until he gets back." Alfred promptly reentered the make-shift dwelling, sat down on some furs, and stretched out comfortably.

"How can you be sure this is his place, anyway?" Arthur asked, completely ignoring both of Alfred's suggestions. "And who is this 'Francis'?"

"He's a French fur-trader. He sheltered me and Mattie for a bit on our way out here." Alfred put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the cave wall with a sigh. "He'll let us stay here the night."

_"French?" _Arthur repeated in horror. Alfred, though, appeared to be taking a nap, so after a moment Arthur finally tied up his horse beside Alfred's. He looked at Alfred's horse, but it didn't give him so much a glance. _Like Alfred, _Arthur thought. He scowled at it and then entered the tent.

They didn't have to wait long before they heard the sound of hooves. This was accompanied by a clear, unfamiliar, and unmistakably French voice. "_Alors, mes amis! _Who is calling on me today?"

Alfred quickly stood with a smile and disappeared back out into the open. Arthur followed him reluctantly. "Francis! Long time no see!" Alfred was saying when Arthur reached the edge of the tent. Arthur didn't step outside, preferring to regard this new person from a distance.

"Alfred! So good to see you." Francis swung down from his horse, smiling broadly. He had long blond hair that was tied back loosely with a bow at the base of his neck. _A bow, _Arthur thought, and mentally snorted. _Too showy, as is to be expected. _He had clear blue eyes and wore a shirt with long, white sleeves that showed off hands gloved in delicate black leather. Not as purely function as, say, Alfred's clothes, but Arthur did have to admit that the Frenchman had style. Francis's eyes came up and he began to look around him. "Ah, but where is _notre cher Mattieu?" _His eyes settled on Arthur and his mouth parted slightly in surprise. A look of confusion crossed his face and his smile disappeared. "Who is–?"

"This is Arthur," Alfred said. The smile in his voice was gone. Arthur's eyes flickered to his and saw how his face had become grave. Francis turned back to Alfred, the look of confusion still creasing his face. Alfred slowly removed his hat.

Francis saw the hat, saw that it was ox-blood red, saw how Alfred pressed it gently against his heart. "Oh no," Francis breathed. No one made a sound. "When?" Francis finally choked out.

"Few days ago," Alfred said. He regarded Francis evenly. Francis closed his eyes.

"How?"

"Sickness." Alfred nodded towards Arthur. "Arthur was there."

Francis turned to Arthur, his eyes searching. "Did it take long?"

"No," Arthur lied. He removed his hat and held it limply at his side.

Francis's face fell as the news sank in. "I see." He covered his face with a hand, and it took Arthur a moment to realize that he was weeping. Alfred's face was creased with pain. Arthur turned, stunned, and walked away. As he walked away, he heard Alfred saying to Francis, "Let's sit inside," and the noise of movement. Arthur didn't turn around. He wasn't a part of this; this grief wasn't his. He found himself standing by the horses at the hitching post. There was a small boulder nearby, so he climbed up on it and pulled his knees to his chest. The faint noises of talk came from the tent. Maybe with him gone, Alfred and Francis would be able to grieve properly, together.

Sometime later, Alfred came out to fetch Arthur. Arthur looked up dully. Alfred was smiling. "Francis is gonna make us dinner!"

"Ah," Arthur said, and slid off his rock. His muscles were stiff from the cold. He winced.

Alfred's face creased momentarily in concern and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Arthur said sharply, and he shrugged Alfred off. He looked away because he did not want to see Alfred's hurt expression.

* * *

><p>When Arthur reentered the cave, dinner was ready. All signs of Francis's sorrow had been erased, though there was a tired light to his eyes that had not been there before. After they had all been served, Francis offered Arthur a hand. "I hope you'll excuse me," Francis said, and Arthur took his hand. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced. My name is Francis Bonnefoy."<p>

"Arthur," Arthur replied.

Francis raised a fine eyebrow. "No family name?"

Arthur hesitated. "Kirkland," he said finally. "Arthur Kirkland."

Francis smiled and removed his hand. "Ah, _l'accent anglais_. You are English."

Arthur frowned. "Obviously. And it is clear that you are French, though I can't imagine why you would come this far west."

Francis shrugged. "Business opportunities. How did you and Alfred meet?"

"Coincidence. And you?"

Francis inclined his head. "The same. Do you know him well, then?" Arthur's eyes narrowed. It was clear that Francis did not believe that Arthur belonged here.

Alfred leaned forward and decided to contribute to their passive-aggressive conversation. "Oh, he's only been traveling with me for a little bit."

"Ah," said Francis with a slightly predatory smile. "I see. I know Alfred very well." Arthur glared at him.

"You were always closer to Matt, though," Alfred pointed out.

A shadow crossed Francis's face. "Indeed." He turned away. "I hope you are enjoying the meal?"

"It's alright," Arthur muttered. In fact, it was the best thing he had eaten in days, but it wasn't as if he were about to admit that.

"Great, of course!" Alfred said enthusiastically. He was already on his second helping of the stew. "I haven't had fresh meat in _ages. _We'll have to buy some off you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" asked Arthur suspiciously.

"Yeah, we're staying the night," Alfred said as if they had already decided on it.

"Oh," grumbled Arthur.

Arthur didn't sleep half as well that night as he had the night before.


	8. The angels laid her away

_Chapter 8: The angels laid her away_

When Arthur woke up the next morning, Francis and Alfred were already up. Francis was cooking something over the fire while Alfred was going through the contents of their saddlebags, which he had dumped out on the floor. When Arthur sat up, Alfred looked over at him and grinned. "Mornin'."

"Good morning," Arthur replied. He watched Alfred quietly for a moment. As far as he could tell, Alfred was separating everything into piles of "food" and "non-food." Arthur pulled himself out of his bedroll and ran his fingers through his hair. He walked over to Alfred and sat down, pointedly ignoring Francis.

"Francis suggested I cut down on the amount of stuff we're bringing through the pass," Alfred explained. "Especially with, you know." He gestured vaguely to the wrapped bars of gold, which had been placed in the "food" pile. "These are the essentials."

Arthur took a tin cup out of the "non-food" pile. "I'll start sorting the non-essentials, then."

Alfred grinned. "Sounds good."

In the end, they ended up keeping nearly all of their supplies. Arthur was allowed to get rid of the broken knife, the old leather hat, and a serious of squashed tin plates, but Alfred fought for (and won) the ball of twine. He held it up and gave Arthur a serious look. "This," he said, "Could be useful."

After they ate the breakfast that Francis had cooked (Arthur glowered at him from behind his plate throughout the entire meal), Alfred started packing their bags. "Art, I'll handle this if you can bargain with Francis for some furs."

"Onhonhon, you can try," Francis said to Arthur with a sly smile. "Let us step outside." Francis took a pile of furs and spread them out on the bright snow.

Arthur crossed his arms and inspected them. "Those two," he said finally, indicating two beaver skins with the toe of his boot. "How much?"

Francis met his gaze evenly. "The both of them? Thirty."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, covering his surprise with an expression of disgust. _We don't have that kind of money, not now. _"Five."

Francis let out a surprised laugh. "Pardon me, I must have misheard you. Did you say twenty-five?"

"You heard me."

Francis raised an eyebrow challengingly. "I am already giving Alfred a discount because he is a friend. I would normally sell these for at least twenty each. They are good quality furs. I cannot sell them for so low!"

Arthur shrugged. "Ten, then. Final offer, take it or leave it."

Francis pursed his lips. "Twenty-five. Nearly half my normal selling price."

"Why not make it half, then?" Arthur asked. A slight smile curved his lips. He could see that Francis had not been expecting this.

Francis narrowed his eyes and regained his composure. "Twenty-five."

"Fifteen."

There was a moment of tense silence. They both knew that one of them had to budge, and Arthur had a lot farther to go up than Francis did to go down. Alfred came out of the tent with his arms fully laden with saddlebags and walked past them to the horses. After he had dumped the saddlebags on the ground, he came back to see why Francis and Arthur were trying to glare each other down. He peered at the pile of furs. "Which ones did you pick?"

Francis and Arthur simultaneously nodded to the two furs in question. Alfred nodded. "Good choice." Arthur watched suspiciously as he pulled a bag of coins out of his pocket, counted some out onto his palm, and then handed them to Francis. "Forty should do it."

_"What?" _Arthur squawked. "Alfred! I nearly had him down to _twenty. _He wasn't even asking that much!"

Alfred shrugged as he ambled back over to the horses. "We need 'em, he's an old friend. Seems fair."

Arthur gawked for a moment until the surprise turned to anger. He clenched his fists and _glared. _"Then _why _did you have me_ bargain with him in the first place?" _

Alfred grinned over his shoulder. "Needed to give you something to do."

Arthur made a noise of disgust deep in his throat. Francis chuckled. "Always a pleasure doing business with you, Alfred."

Arthur whipped his head around and glared at Francis. Francis's smile left his face. "Thank you for the furs," Arthur snapped. He picked them up and stomped back to the cave. _Stupid Alfred, _he fumed. _Stupid, stupid Alfred. _

* * *

><p>Despite the small amount of supplies that Arthur and Alfred had discarded, their saddlebags were actually fuller than they had been before they arrived at Francis's camp. This was mostly because Francis had generously restocked their food supplies, and give them some extra besides. They had tied the furs and their bedrolls behind their saddles to make as much room in their saddlebags as possible.<p>

They mounted their horses as soon as everything had been stowed away. Francis came outside to see them off. Alfred looked down at Francis with a smile. "Well, I'll see you around," he said.

Francis returned his smile. "Yes. It was a pleasure to see you again. I think I'll move out soon, as well. This is hardly a busy time for travelers in the mountains."

"Where to?"

"The lower mountains to the west. I don't want to be trapped in this particular valley if there's a blizzard." Alfred nodded. Francis took Alfred's hand between his own and smiled warmly. "Thank you for telling me, Alfred. God's speed." A ghost of a smile crossed Alfred's face. Francis released his hand, stepped back, and they were off.

The snow was thin but it had stuck. It made the way all the more dangerous, though it was better than pure ice. Alfred led the way this time, and Arthur certainly didn't complain.

It took them nearly a full day to climb back into the mountains. By the end of the day they had made little progress across the pass itself, so they had to camp in it, off to the side of the path and in the shelter of the forest. They were still exposed, though, and Alfred did everything he could to keep them concealed from any watching eyes. Arthur settled himself by the fire and watched as Alfred checked their camp. He made sure the horses were fed, that the tent was tied down tightly, and that their fire was dim. It took a long time for him to check on Arthur.

Arthur was gazing intently into the fire when Alfred sat down. Alfred was surprised by the hardness he saw in that gaze. The firelight merely made Alfred's eyes look dark and flickering, but Arthur's eyes had moments where they seemed to be made of green fire. Alfred could tell that something was up. He bit his lip and waited.

Eventually, Arthur spoke. "You told me what you were running from. Before we go over the mountains, into town, I think . . . you should know my side of it too." Alfred regarded him warily, but he said nothing. Arthur met Alfred's eyes. "I killed a man."

There was a moment of silence. Alfred looked surprised, then relieved, and then very cautious. "Accidentally?" he asked hopefully.

"No."

"In self-defense?" Arthur shook his head. "Well, in defense of somebody else?" Alfred asked, less certainly. Arthur's mouth tightened and he shook his head again. Creases were developing in Alfred's forehead. "Because of your honor, or something."

"Alfred," Arthur said. "I'm not the good man you're making me out to be. What I did wasn't justified. I left England because I was a wanted man, and I came this far west because I still am. They know my name on the east coast of your country. I doubt it will be a problem in this town, but if you want to turn me in, I'd appreciate it if you repaid your debt by at least giving me fair warning."

Alfred stared at him, open-mouthed. When he recovered, he blinked and leaned forward. "Wait, you think I'd turn you in? I may be a bounty hunter on occasion, but I don't turn in people who don't deserve it. I'm not saying this because you saved my life. Everyone has a reason for everything they do, and until I know yours, I'm not going to judge you." He scooted around the fire and clasped Arthur's arm. "The Arthur I know is a good man. That's the Arthur I'm going to protect."

Arthur stared at Alfred, stunned. Alfred didn't seem embarrassed in the least by his words. _Protect? Not only give me the benefit of the doubt, but protect me? _The light caught Alfred's eyes right and for a moment, they flickered blue. "I– That's very noble of you," Arthur said finally. The words were hard to say.

Alfred nodded and released his arm. "Just doin' my best."

* * *

><p>The next morning was cold and bright. More snow had fallen during the night, but there were only a few clouds in the sky and the air was still. Now that they were in the pass, the riding was somewhat easier than it had been. They alternated between chatting (or rather, Arthur listening to Alfred's chatter) and comfortable silence. It was in one of the latter times that Alfred suddenly stopped his horse, pointed to the side of the path, and exclaimed, "Look!"<p>

Arthur stopped his horse and looked where Alfred was pointing. A rabbit was hoping slowly through the trees nearby. It paused and browsed in a patch of grass peaking through the snow. Arthur did not see anything special about this. "Yes?" he asked dryly. "I'm surprised it didn't run away when you yelled at it."

Alfred dutifully lowered the volume of his voice (though not by much). "Prey!" he said excitedly.

"We still have all the food Francis gave us," Arthur pointed out. "It's hardly worth the trouble."

"Aw, Artie, we ate most of the meat last night, remember?" Alfred's eyes still hadn't left the rabbit. He slowly pulled out his pistol. Arthur bit his lip. He didn't mind killing animals in general, but it was practically murder from this close, and the rabbit looked so . . . innocent. Alfred aimed and fired. He winced.

The shot hit the tree behind the rabbit about a foot above its head.

The rabbit darted away through the trees and Alfred swore under his breath. "Alfred . . ." Arthur began quietly.

"Yeah, I know, I can't believe it got away," Alfred grumbled.

"Alfred," Arthur said again. "How could you have missed it?"

Alfred looked at him, confusion obvious on his face. "It was kind of far away."

Was he joking? Arthur honestly wasn't sure. He looked at Alfred, then at the tree. "Wait here," he said, and rode a ways down the path.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked worriedly.

Arthur stopped his horse and turned it around. He held up four fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ar_thurr,_" Alfred whined. "There's nothing wrong with my _eyesight." _

"Just tell me."

"Fine." Alfred crossed his arms and slouched dismally. "Two."

"No."

Alfred looked aghast. "Oh," he said quietly. A satisfied look crossed his face and he held up three fingers. "How about me?"

"Three," said Arthur. Alfred made a face. Arthur rode a little closer. "Now?"

". . . Four."

"Five."

"Dammit!" Alfred said unhappily.

Arthur rode so close to Alfred he could have reached out and touched him. He raised an eyebrow.

"One," Alfred said, with certainty this time.

"Yes," Arthur said. He gave Alfred a _look_ that did not allow for arguing. "We're getting you glasses once we get to town."

Alfred shook his head determinedly. "No way. I can see just fine."

"Alfred," Arthur ground out, "A child could have shot that rabbit. You need eyeglasses."

"I am a _cowboy _and a _bounty hunter,_" Alfred said firmly. "I _protect people _and their property_. _Heros do not wear glasses."

"Alfred."

"They would get broken."

"Alfred." Arthur gave him a very pointed look. "I'm not asking. I'm informing you of a fact."

Alfred pouted. He was silent for a moment. Suddenly he straightened up with a challenging glint to his eye. "Alright, fine. But I'm going to bring us back three game, all bigger than that rabbit." Arthur opened his mouth to protest but Alfred cut him off. He nodded towards a sheltered snowbank nearby. "You wait there with the horses."

"What?" Arthur demanded indignantly. "Wait here?"

"Yeah, someone needs to guard the horses and the, you know, goods." Alfred dismounted his horse and pulled his riffle out of the saddlebags. "I'll be back before you know it." The determined set to Alfred's mouth almost made Arthur think that he was going to do it.

"Alright," Arthur said reluctantly. He watched Alfred trudge through the snow and disappear into the forest. When he was gone, he rolled his eyes. _Classic. His ego gets damaged so he feels the need to go out and shoot something. _He slid off his horse, picked up Alfred's reins, and led both horses off the path. He tied them up to a tree and sat down on a nearby rock.

Sitting there was almost relaxing, actually. Several minutes after Alfred left, Arthur started to notice birds hoping on the ground or nearby tree branches. Their chatter and song made a steady, soothing background to the occasional _plop _as snow slid off branches and fell to the ground below. Arthur had always like animals, and nature in general, and he felt very at peace. Occasionally he would hear a far off shot and the birds would sort of flutter about, but they always settled back down quickly.

At some point, the birds flew away and didn't come back.

It took Arthur a moment to notice, and another moment to realize what the distant sound he had been hearing for the past few minutes was: The patter of hooves. He stood up and put a hand on his holster. He glanced around him quickly. He hadn't heard a shot from Alfred in a while, so he was probably still busy. The horses were off the path, but they were not hidden, and he had no place to hide them. There was no use hiding himself, and the sound of hooves was rapidly getting louder. He waited.

Three familiar men rode around the bend in the trail. It was close enough for Arthur to easily see who they were. _The Vargas brothers and company. _His heart raced and he wanted to run. He didn't. If he could see them, they could certainly see him.

All three men drew up in front of Arthur and stopped. "Hello there," called the happy one – Feliciano. "Where's your friend?" Meanwhile, Lovino nudged his horse over to where Arthur's and Alfred's were. He leaned over and began rummaging through the saddlebags. Arthur watched him out of the corner of his eye. He kept the rest of his attention on Antonio, though, for Antonio still had the lazy smile on his face and he was holding a pistol lazily in one hand. Arthur said nothing.

"It's here," said Lovino. He held up something wrapped in leather and let the leather fall to the side: A bar of gold.

"Ah, you're right," exclaimed Feliciano. He rode over to the horses eagerly and began looking for the rest of the bars. Lovino rode back over to Antonio and gave Arthur what he assumed was supposed to be an intimidating look.

"So what do you think?" Lovino asked. "You're here all alone, and there's three of us. Let us take what we want without a fight and no one gets injured, you hear?" Still Arthur said nothing. Lovino scowled at him. "Oi, I'm talking to you. Are you fucking deaf?"

"I have all of the gold!" Feliciano said happily. He was carrying it in front of him in the saddle. For a moment, Lovino was completely distracted and Antonio's gaze flickered away from Arthur. Arthur took the split-second he had to draw his revolver, but it was a split-second too long. Before he could blink or tighten his finger against the trigger, Antonio had focused on him again and shot him in the leg.

The sharp noise disoriented Arthur, and when his leg crumpled underneath him, for a moment he didn't know why. He stumbled backwards against a tree. His hands clutched at the bark behind him, trying to make sense of the situation, and he realized that he had dropped his revolver. Suddenly there was a blinding pain in his leg and his vision went white. He gasped for air. When he couldn't take it anymore, he bit his lip so hard to keep from crying out that he drew blood. When he finally looked up through the haze that surrounded him, all three men were looking over the top of his hand and appeared somewhat panicked. He didn't understand why. _They shot me, _he thought dully. _Antonio shot me. _He slid to the ground and reached vainly for his revolver. It was only a few arm's lengths away, but none of the men made a move to stop him. He gasped in a breath and lunged for it. Though the movement nearly made him vomit, he picked it up and shot Antonio in the chest.

Antonio cried out and bent forward, clutching at his chest. There were suddenly a lot of things going on. There was a shuffling as if someone were running through snow, Arthur's horse snorted, and Feliciano gave a little cry of shock and dismay. Lovino's voice rose high and panicked above everything else: "Toni! Toni!" Lovino put an arm around Antonio and leaned against his shoulder to support him as best he could. His words dissolved into a mixture of fast Italian and Spanish that Arthur couldn't have understood if he had wanted to. Feliciano was backing away from Arthur in terror, though he was staring at a space above Arthur's head. _Why? _Arthur finally wondered. _What is behind me? _He shakily pulled himself half-way up the tree and turned his head. Alfred was standing on the snowbank behind him, a rifle in his hands. He looked furious.

Arthur felt so relieved he nearly lay down right then and there. Instead, he slid down to the ground and let the pain wash over him.

"Leave," growled Alfred's voice from somewhere above him.

Lovino glared back at him, but there were tears beginning to quickly streak down his cheeks. His situation was clearly hopeless: His comrade was dying and he had just as much chance of escaping a gunfight as Alfred did. Still, he was holding a gun in his free hand. It was pointed at Alfred.

"I said, drop the gold and leave."

Lovino snarled at him, then threw the gun to the ground. He looked away from Alfred and pulled himself onto the back of Antonio's horse. Antonio leaned into him, groaning, as he took the reins. "I'm sorry, Lovi," Feliciano whispered, and dropped the gold to the ground. He took the reins of Lovino's horse, and the three of them rode back the way they had come.

Alfred jumped down next to Arthur and Arthur looked up. The concern in Alfred's face made Arthur's thoughts a little clearer. "Oh dear God, Arthur, are you okay?" Alfred crouched down beside him and touched him – first his hair, then his shoulder, then his ankle, as if he couldn't decide what to do. "Did they– I can't believe– I shouldn't have gone hunting, we didn't really need the meat–" Then, to Arthur's surprise, Alfred wrapped his arms around him and hugged him to his chest. "I'm going to fix you," Alfred mumbled into his hair. "Because that's what heroes do." He slung his riffle over his shoulder and picked Arthur up.

Pain washed over Arthur. This time, it seemed okay to cry out. Alfred babbled what seemed like nonsense in an attempt to soothe one of them, though Arthur wasn't sure who. Alfred's arms were warm and strong, and despite the pain, Arthur felt safe. He leaned his head against Alfred's chest and panted for breath. He couldn't hear Alfred's heartbeat above the noise of his own breathing, but the thought formed in his fogged mind that it was just beneath his fingertips. He clutched harder at Alfred's shirt. Maybe another time he would be able to feel it.

* * *

><p>Arthur did not know how much later it was that Alfred finally lay him down. He heard Alfred say that he would be back in a minute with the horses and the game, and it wasn't much longer before he picked him up again and placed him on a blanket. Arthur felt that he should protest at being carried about in this manner, but all he could manage was a quiet grumbling noise. Alfred leaned over him and Arthur did his best to scowl. It kept his attention away from the pain.<p>

"I need to take the bullet out." Alfred's expression was serious.

"Really?" Arthur drawled sarcastically, though his heart had sped up the words. The idea terrified him.

"Yeah." Alfred looked sad and nervous. "Um. Just try to relax."

"Right," Arthur said, though the venom in his voice was quickly fading.

"Here–" Alfred disappeared from his line of vision and returned with a bottle of whiskey. Arthur propped himself up on an elbow and took the bottle gratefully. He gasped as the first mouthful stung his throat. Alfred knelt down by his leg. Arthur looked away and gulped down another mouthful.

Alfred's hands were gentle as he cut away the cloth surrounding Arthur's wound. He cleaned it with water and alcohol and Arthur couldn't help the hissed breath that escaped his teeth. Then Alfred took off his own belt and wordlessly handed it to Arthur. Arthur tensed. He lay back and bit down on the leather.

Alfred worked quickly, but even so, Arthur fainted half-way through. When he awoke, his pant leg had been cut off up to his thigh (Arthur blushed a little at that) and the wound was wrapped in clean white bandages. He tried to ignore the spots of red that were quickly seeping through and looked around for Alfred.

Though it was still daytime, Alfred had laid out both of their bedrolls in the open air. The horses were grazing nearby – very close, in fact. Alfred was clearly hoping they would give the two of them some warning if anyone came close. Arthur's eyes caught on what seemed to be a pile of feathers near the two of them. It took him a moment to realize that they were three turkeys, tied together by their feet. Arthur's mouth quirked into a smile. Alfred really had done what he said he would. He looked to his left. Alfred was curled up on his bedroll next to Arthur. He was asleep.

Arthur's smiled softened. Alfred was frowning slightly, but otherwise he looked peaceful. There was a strand of his hair that was touching his eyelashes. Arthur longed to brush it away, but he didn't dare wake Alfred. With Alfred like that, he looked . . . well, first of all, he looked adorable; second of all, he looked unbelievably handsome.

Arthur felt a pang in his chest. As if it mattered. Alfred had taken Arthur's admission of murder surprisingly well, but it was obvious that this was because Alfred was in denial. When he actually believed Arthur – which, Arthur knew, it was inevitable that he would – he would not be so kind. He would not tend to Arthur's wounds then.

No, Arthur knew what Alfred would do. He would turn Arthur in.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>When Francis and Arthur are bargaining, they are talking about dollars. I looked at a couple of US dollar inflation calculators online, and it seems like what one dollar would buy then, you would need about twenty dollars to buy now. (Thus, five dollars would be about one hundred dollars now, and forty dollars would be about 800 dollars now. . . .) However, I don't know how much they valued furs or anything like that, so my prices are pretty much completely made up. ;)


	9. When the people heard Delia was dead

_Author's note: _This chapter caused me quite a bit of writer's block. (It didn't really help that I've been pretty stressed lately, and stress=lots of fanfic reading, which does _not _equal lots of fanfic _writing. _Also, I don't think I have previously appreciated the gladdening effects of fanfiction quite the way I do now. It's even better than chocolate.) Thanks to silverstream27 for suggesting I write another chapter in Alfred's POV, since that actually helped me a lot. :) I should probably have the chapters trade off in POV a little more than I do, for consistency's sake. Anyway, here y'are.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 9: When the people heard Delia was dead<em>

Alfred discovered a few things the day Arthur got shot. First of all: Arthur was way too calm and quiet when he was in mortal danger. Couldn't he have yelled to get Alfred's attention, or something? They had both been lucky that Alfred had been so close and heard the sound of unfamiliar voices.

Second of all: Seeing Arthur injured apparently made Alfred panic. Why that was, Alfred didn't know. Alfred had seen people get shot before. Actually, Alfred had _been _shot before. It wasn't like Arthur meant anything to him. He was just his partner. Right?

Third: Holding Arthur against his chest and feeling his breath on his chin, even though Arthur had been in a lot of pain and Alfred had been kind of panicking, had been one of the best feelings Alfred had ever had.

What the hell was wrong with him?

After Arthur passed out and Alfred had finished cleaning the wound up as best he could, Alfred thoroughly washed his hands in the stream nearby (_Oh God, why is his blood on my hands?)_ and settled down by Arthur to keep some kind of watch. At first, he told himself that it was to make sure the Vargas Brothers & Co. didn't come back, but it didn't take him very long to figure out that he was lying to himself. A member of their party was wounded even worse than Arthur was, and judging from their reactions when he (Toni or something?) got shot, it was extremely unlikely that they valued gold over their friend. The gold was safe. Arthur though, might not be.

Alfred realized he had been pretty much staring at Arthur's unconscious form for the last fifteen minutes. Okay, so maybe he was keeping watch on Arthur. If Arthur woke up and he was in a lot of pain, or needed some water, he would need Alfred's help – and there was also the part where Alfred just kind of wanted to be there for him when he woke up. Arthur had already woken up briefly out of his faint when Alfred had been bandaging the wound, but all it had taken to get him to fall back asleep was Alfred ruffling his hair and making shush-ing noises. Arthur had promptly closed his eyes, let his head fall to the side, and started drooling.

Alfred looked at Arthur from under his fringe. He was definitely still sleeping very soundly. Alfred scooted a little closer – just to make sure Arthur was okay, of course. He still couldn't really see Arthur's face, though, so he scooted over a little more. Somehow, he ended up close enough to touch him. Arthur was kind of . . . pretty, or something. If you ignored the eyebrows. (_They're what make him so cute and sexy when he's glaring at you like that, _a traitorous part of his brain informed him.) Right now, Arthur's face looked almost peaceful. It was a welcome change from his usual scowl, and much, much nicer than the pained look Arthur had had on his face the last time he had been awake. Alfred felt something tighten in his chest. He had really, really hated seeing Arthur making that expression.

There were a couple of choices that Alfred had to make, he knew. The first was how best to get out of the mountains. The second was, once they got there, what to do about taking Arthur into town. After his confession the night before, Alfred could understand that he might be concerned about going into a large town on the east side of the mountains. However, Arthur needed a doctor.

If they stayed in the pass much longer, they were going to be in danger of getting snowed in or freezing to death – but Arthur needed time to recover. They could move slowly and hope he could heal on the way. Moving slowly, though, meant more opportunities for the wound to get infected. If it got infected, Arthur was as good as dead. Alfred buried his face in his arms and took a deep breath. For once, he didn't know what to do.

It was still daylight, but Alfred set out his bedroll and curled up inside it. Somehow he didn't think that he was going to be able to sleep that night anyway, and right now, he wasn't exactly doing anything useful. He turned on his side and looked at Arthur. Slowly, his thoughts stopped tumbling around in his head and he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>When Alfred woke up, Arthur was already awake. He was sitting up in his bedroll, quietly gazing off into the distance. Alfred sat up and searched his face for any sign of pain or discomfort. "How are you feeling?" Alfred asked worriedly. Arthur looked at him, a little startled. His expression relaxed and he smiled softly. Alfred blinked in pleasant surprise. What did he have to smile about?<p>

"I'm okay," Arthur said. "It doesn't hurt as much now. Thank you for taking the bullet out."

"Oh, okay. Good," Alfred said. "Er, no problem." Arthur nodded and looked calmly back out at the woods. Alfred watched him curiously. "Why are you smiling?" he blurted out.

"Oh, am I?" Arthur asked. The smile immediately faded from his face, but in a moment it was back again in the corners of his eyes. "I guess I am. Maybe it's because I feel safe."

"Safe?" The word hit Alfred like a brick. Why would he feel safe? Alfred felt the opposite of safe, and he wasn't the one with a bullet wound in his leg. Maybe the pain was going to Arthur's head. Or he was hallucinating already. Arthur wasn't exactly elaborating, though, so Alfred gave up staring at him. "Um. So, we should stay here tonight."

Arthur immediately frowned. "You don't need to make allowances for me."

"You're injured," Alfred pointed out.

"It's my leg, not my arm. I can still ride." The only problem with that argument was that they both knew that wasn't how riding worked.

Alfred set his mouth mulishly. "We're spendin' the night. We move out tomorrow." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized it was the right decision: Move out, rest as much as Arthur needed, but get him out of the mountains.

Arthur scowled, but it was half-hearted. "Fine."

It was getting late in the afternoon, so Alfred got to work cleaning the turkeys. Arthur took one and began plucking out the feathers, one by one. They worked in silence for a long time. When Arthur had nothing left to do, he lay down and looked away from Alfred. Alfred couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.

They had turkey and beans for dinner. Alfred was in charge of the turkey, and (if he said so himself) it was cooked to perfection. Arthur was in charge of stirring the beans so they didn't get burned, which . . . er. Alfred subtly dumped his serving onto the ground when Arthur wasn't looking.

They washed the dishes together. After they were done, Alfred set up the tent around Arthur so that he wouldn't have to move. Arthur protested in his embarrassed, blushing way, but Alfred laughed and told him he was being silly. He checked on the horses, banked the fire, and then crawled inside. Parts of him – his leg, his shoulder, his arm – somehow ended up pressed warmly against Arthur's unwounded side. Neither of them moved away. They fell asleep under the warmth of furs and to the sounds of each other's breathing.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Arthur changed his bandages while Alfred made breakfast. Alfred tried to pay attention to his task, but he kept glancing over at Arthur. Arthur's face was expressionless, and that worried him. After Arthur had hobbled painfully over to the fire and sat down, Alfred wordlessly handed him a tin plate. "Thanks," Arthur said through thin, pale lips.<p>

Arthur did the dishes while Alfred got the horses ready. He could tell they were already falling into a new routine, one that was only a slight variation of their old one. _Routine. _The word was nice. It felt like home.

When it was time to leave, Alfred knelt down by Arthur's horse and cupped his hands above his knee. Arthur looked at him for a moment, then bit his lip and stepped into his hands. Alfred pushed him up, and Arthur swung his injured leg over the horse – but clumsily, and he let out a small cry of pain as his leg banged painfully against the saddle. "Arthur," Alfred said immediately, "Are you alright?" Arthur glanced at him and Alfred felt his stomach sink. Arthur was white as a sheet.

"I'm fine," Arthur said, too harshly. "Stop asking."

When they dismounted for lunch, Alfred could see the blood soaking through Arthur's trouser leg. He stared at it without meaning to. Arthur avoided his eyes and spoke little. They rested much longer than they usually did, but Arthur had finally stopped protesting.

They moved very slowly. It took them nearly twice as long to get out of the mountains as Alfred had anticipated, even accounting for bad weather. Thankfully, they only had to deal with heavy snow for one day and one night. The next morning, Arthur woke up encircled in Alfred's warm arms.

* * *

><p>One day, they started descending and didn't stop. They came into the town that afternoon. The town was large, sprawling, and busy. Arthur followed Alfred closely. Alfred found the bank with ease and dismounted. Arthur waited for Alfred to offer him a hand, but he didn't. Instead, Alfred rested a hand gently on Arthur's ankle and looked up at him. "You can wait here," Alfred said. "I can handle it. I won't be gone any longer than necessary."<p>

There was an easy familiarity in the way they interacted with one another now. Alfred knew that Arthur felt it to, because he didn't even glance at Alfred's hand. "I want to come," he said, though his face was pale. Alfred nodded. He released Arthur's ankle and held out a hand. Arthur took it, and he landed with only the slightest wince.

Alfred carried the gold inside himself, still in their leather wrappings. He held the door open for Arthur, and then walked boldly up to the teller. Arthur followed more slowly, at his own pace, but with less limp than usual. He stopped a few steps behind Alfred and watched.

Alfred dumped the gold on the teller's desk and untied one of the wrappings. The teller's eyes followed his movements, and then went wide. "I believe there's a reward for some gold that went missing a few weeks ago," Alfred said. He set an elbow on the counter and leaned in a little closer to the teller. "Is the manager in?" Alfred winked. The teller's eyes moved to Alfred's face. He turned pale, nodded rapidly, and disappeared. He reappeared moments later, followed by a man with a wide mustache. The man gave Alfred a demanding look. Alfred just grinned.

The manager unwrapped the gold and examined it. When he was satisfied, he nodded and said gruffly, "Well then, might I ask your names, gentlemen?"

"I'm Alfred Jones. This here's Arthur," he said, jerking a thumb towards Arthur. Arthur nodded briefly.

The manager cleared his throat. "I suppose I might owe you boys some money."

"I do believe so, sir," Alfred said with another grin. The manager murmured something to the teller, who disappeared again and then returned with a leather bag that jingled. Alfred took it. "Thank you kindly," he said. And that was that.

Arthur managed to walk back out to their horses with only a slightly more noticeable limp, though he was sweating by the time they got there. Alfred, however, had an extra bounce in his step. "Now we have a little money to spend," he said happily as he mounted his horse. "Once we get you to do the doctor, there has to be some sort of entertainment–"

"We are getting you some glasses first," Arthur interrupted firmly. He hauled himself up into the saddle with a wince, and then turned to give Alfred a _look. _"And I do not need to go to the doctor."

Alfred actually laughed. "You've been fighting me every step of the way since you got hurt. Maybe you'll actually listen to an authority on the matter. How 'bout we trade? I'll get glasses if you let the doctor look at you."

"Fine," snapped Arthur.

Alfred felt a twinge of sympathy for Arthur. It was obvious he wanted to be better already. Alfred reached over and patted his hand gently. "It'll help. I promise." Arthur turned a little pink and looked away, but he nodded. Alfred smiled and released his hand. "Now, I think his place is just down the road a little. . . ."

* * *

><p>Unsurprisingly, the doctor took one look at Arthur's leg and told him he needed bed rest – a lot of it. "Really, this wound should have been stitched up, but it doesn't seem to be infected and it's healing well enough on its own. I'd say, keep your weight off it for at least two weeks, keep it clean, and you'll be right as rain." Arthur nodded politely, but Alfred could tell from the set of his mouth that he had no intention of following through.<p>

"Well, that's just perfect," Alfred told the doctor happily. "We're going to be here for just about two weeks!"

"We are?" Arthur growled under his breath.

"We were just coming up here to visit my aunt – Artie's my cousin, see – and I know she needs help retiling her roof," Alfred said immediately. "Would you believe it got blown near all the way off last spring? Pity is, we were delayed–"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thank you doctor," he said quickly. "I'll be sure to take your advice into consideration. Now _cousin,_" he said with a meaningful look at Alfred, "Can I trouble you to help get me out of here?"

Alfred grinned and leapt up. He dumped some of their newly acquired coins on the doctor's desk, looped an arm around Arthur's waist, and helped him hobble out the door. As soon as the door banged shut behind them, Arthur hissed in his ear, "I thought you were proud of being honest and all that nonsense. How does lying to the doctor fit in?"

Alfred chuckled. "If I didn't say something, he was going to start asking why you had a bullet wound in your leg. I didn't really wanna bother explainin' _that _one to him."

* * *

><p>Alfred's eyeglasses came next. Getting them ended up being a long process. Arthur waited patiently in a chair in the corner of the room while Alfred tried on pair after pair of glasses. "Is this better or worse than the last one?" the man helping them (glasses, dark and slicked-back hair, and an aristocratically arrogant way of speaking) asked.<p>

Alfred squinted painfully through the lenses set in too-narrow frames. "Um, worse?"

"Alright. How about this pair?" And so it continued. Alfred was something of a mess by the time the man was satisfied with his responses to, "Can you read this line from this distance?" Arthur watched with some amusement as Alfred squirmed in his chair while the man fitted the frame to his head. Eventually, Alfred was able to throw some money at him and escape with his own pair of brand new eyeglasses.

"How is it?" Arthur asked with some concern as he walked Alfred out the door. Alfred was looking around at everything and blinking quite a lot.

They stepped out onto the street and Alfred stopped. He was grinning. "Awesome." Arthur, too, looked around. He wondered what the world had been like to Alfred before. How blurry and indistinct had it been? "Wait, woah!" Alfred suddenly exclaimed. He was pointing excitedly to a tree some distance away.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, slightly alarmed. He examined the tree but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

Alfred took a few paces forward and a few paces back. "You didn't tell me that normal people can see the _leaves _on trees from all the way across the street!" He was grinning like mad. "That is _so great." _

Arthur stared at him. "What did trees look like before?"

"I dunno. Blobs?" Alfred looked at him. Arthur was suddenly struck by how much more . . . _mature _Alfred looked with glasses. His breath caught in his throat. Alfred was looking at him very intently.

"What?" Arthur asked quickly.

A grin slowly appeared on Alfred's face. He closed the space between them and grabbed Arthur by the shoulders. "Artie! I can see you!"

Arthur blushed and tried to brush his hands away. "You've seen me before. Your vision can't be so bad that you can't even _see _people–"

"No, but– There are, like, all these details!" Alfred's grin hadn't faded in the least. "Your eyes are so green! It's awesome!" And before Arthur was aware of what was happening, Alfred hugged him.

Arthur tensed immediately. Alfred was _so close. _He was warm, and his arms were strong around Arthur's back, and . . . _Oh God. _Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel his face heating. _This is bad. _His eyes snapped open and he began frantically trying to wriggle free.

Alfred released him and patted him on the back. He was still smiling. "These glasses are great!"

"I'm glad you like them," Arthur said hastily. He looked away and tried to mentally force the heat from his cheeks. "It's after noon. We should find some lunch."

Alfred enthusiastically agreed with that idea, so they remounted their horses (Arthur, painfully so) and found somewhere to eat.

They stayed in the town that night, and Alfred made it clear they at least had to stay long enough to restock from their time in the mountains. However, the money from their previous job would only get them so far. Alfred promised that the next day, he would find them some work.

The next morning, Alfred came back from his job search and informed Arthur that yes, he had gotten a job, but it was in town and they would be staying there for at least two weeks.

"What am I going to do for the next two weeks?" Arthur asked suspiciously from the bed, where he had been resting.

"Recuperatin', of course," Alfred said happily. "I wasn't kidding when I told the doctor we'd be here at least that long. It's getting all wintery anyway, so riding around probably isn't what we should be doing at this time of year, but it's definitely a bad idea with your leg."

Arthur stiffened. "My leg is fine. It's healing."

Alfred gave him an unsympathetic look. "The only reason you were riding with that until now was because we were tryin' to get out of the mountains before we froze to death. You need some time to rest and heal and all that stuff." He clapped Arthur strongly on the shoulder and grinned. "Just you see, we'll be out of here in no time." He did not notice the glare that Arthur shot at him.

As could be predicted, Arthur had absolutely nothing to do. He spent the rest of that morning sitting in bed, drumming his fingers on the bed and glaring at the wall. That afternoon, he went out and bought himself a needle and some thread. When Alfred came back that night, he found Arthur meticulously mending the pair of trousers he had been wearing when he got shot.

"You can just throw 'em out," Alfred said with some surprise. "We can afford new ones."

"There's no point in buying what we don't need," Arthur informed him primly, and dipped the needle back into the cloth.

It took Arthur only two days to mend every hole in every piece of cloth he, Alfred, or the horses possessed. After that, he went out and bought himself a book. This time, Alfred looked a little sad. "I could have bought it for you if you told me you wanted something to do," Alfred said pathetically. "I've been out all day."

Arthur regarded him over the top of the book. "It wasn't exactly expensive. And it was nice for me to actually have an excuse to go out for once, you know."

"But Arthur, your _leg," _Alfred said, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You need to rest." He looked at Arthur pleadingly. "Can I please buy you more books? Please? You don't have to go out."

Arthur almost said no, but he felt so bad he ducked his head and mumbled, "Alright," into his book. The next day, he received a pile of nine books from a grinning Alfred. "Thanks," he said, and turned a bit pink. Alfred just mussed his hair and didn't stop grinning.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, Arthur was healed enough and Alfred was impatient enough, so they packed up their supplies and left. Before they did, though, Alfred popped into the sheriff's office and got them a job.<p>

They were hunting for a wanted man. He was known by many aliases, but there was one thing clear from the Wanted poster: he always wore a mask around his eyes. He was wanted for murder and stealing a load of cargo, and he had last been seen a few days previous fleeing east. Arthur understood the irony – oh, he understood it very well. But somehow, he could feel no compassion for the man they were hunting.

They rode out before dawn. Within two days, they had picked up his trail. On the third day, they found him.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note:<em> I'm nearsighted like Alfred, and it always impresses me how different the world looks after I get an updated prescription. I kid you not, when I got my prescription updated a few years ago, I went outside and realized that I could see the _leaves on trees. _That were _across the street. _It almost made me cry with joy. :'D

Oh, and I recently received a review pointing out that this story doesn't really _need _the association with the song I've based it off of. I think this is particularly true now, since it is has become obvious to me that this plot is not going to follow the song's at all. (I can only be so coldhearted in one story. T.T) The title "Folk Bloodbath" is also kind of misleading. If I changed the title, I'd also delete all the song lyrics present in the story. Themes, like Alfred's hat and roses (which will come up later), would still be present. I still like the general idea of the "Folk Bloodbath" feel, but I can definitely see the advantage of getting rid of that. Thoughts? Emotions? Comments?

(Can you tell from the unholy amount of author's notes that I missed you guys? :'D )


	10. All of them gentlemen

_Author's note: _Thanks for all your feedback on what to do about this story. I think I'll leave it as it is for now. (This was mostly due to general opinion, since at this point I don't feel particularly strongly about it one way or the other. Still, I'd love to continue to hear your feedback. If I hear a particularly good argument/strong desire that I change it, I still might in the future.)

If you didn't catch it last chapter, the outlaw they are hunting is Turkey.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 10: All of them gentlemen<em>

They came upon the outlaw in a lightly forested area near a thin stream. It was midday and he had stopped to water his horse. When Alfred caught sight of him through the brush, he gestured Arthur quietly back and they both tied up their horses. Alfred pulled a length of rope from his saddlebags and threw it over his shoulder. Alfred nodded towards their target and Arthur nodded back briefly in response. They both drew their guns and crept stealthily through the forest. When they could clearly hear him and the noise of his horse, Alfred crouched behind a bush and silently indicated that Arthur should hide behind a nearby tree. Arthur stepped carefully on the bed of pine needles and held his gun steady. He put his shoulder to the tree and carefully peeked around the edge.

The man they were hunting had dark, short, messy hair. When he turned slightly, Arthur saw that he was indeed wearing a mask around his eyes. As his horse finished drinking, he led it away from the water and tied it up to a tree. He began looking through his saddlebags, presumably for something to eat.

Alfred caught Arthur's eye and jerked his head towards the man. He held up three fingers: _Three . . . two . . . one . . ._ They sprang out from their hiding places. "Hands up," Alfred said loudly. The man turned around, startled, and his hand immediately went to his holster. "Not a good idea," Alfred told him, and the man let his hand drop. Arthur began to carefully circle around to the man's side, so that they had him cornered. Realizing this, the man slowly raised his hands to his head, his eyes darting back and forth between the two of them.

"Now then, my partner here" – at this, Alfred briefly caught Arthur's eye – "Is gonna make sure you don't move while I tie you up. They may not care too much back at the sheriff's office if you're alive or not, but I'll see to it that you're given a trial, understand?" Alfred carefully re-holstered his gun and slid the rope off his arm. "Don't mean he ain't gonna shoot you in the leg if you try anything, though," he added cheerfully. He pulled the man's hands behind him and quickly looped the rope around them. Alfred was almost done when the man suddenly ducked and kicked him in the shin. Arthur shouted something, he didn't know what – he no longer had a clear shot, and the man was going to get away. Before he could do anything, though, Alfred had grabbed the man by the shoulders and wrestled him to the ground.

Arthur wasn't sure if he had been aware before of exactly how strong Alfred was. The man wiggled like a fish, but Alfred practically slammed him into the ground and then sat easily on his back. Alfred quickly retied the man's hands. The man let out a string of curses, the first words they had heard him speak. Alfred smiled cheerfully and started tying his feet together. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" He stood up and looked down at the man. "Now, what did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," the man spat.

"Well, that's a pity. I had hoped to meet you properly. I'm Alfred," he said with a grin, "And this here's Arthur."

Arthur felt a shiver go up his spine; somehow, telling an outlaw their names just seemed like a bad idea. "Alfred," he said sharply. "Is that really necessary?"

Alfred waved a hand carelessly. "I'm just bein' polite." He turned back to their prisoner, who had worked himself up onto his knees and was looking at the two of them very warily. "Come on, let's get you on the horse. Make it easy for the both of us, okay?"

"Why don't you just shoot me and get it over with," the man said. His eyes flickered over to Arthur, who was still aiming his revolver at him.

"I told you, I'm not gonna _kill_ you," Alfred drawled.

"Yeah? Your hat says otherwise."

Alfred automatically reached up to touch his blood-red hat in surprise. "What, this?" he asked. Arthur tensed, wondering if Alfred would take offense and change his mind about their prisoner. But Alfred just tapped his hat and laughed. "This here's just a hat. I've never yet killed a man while wearing it, and I don't plan to. Now, let's get you on that horse." Alfred knelt down and slung the man over his shoulder, who promptly swore and struggled, albeit weakly. Arthur relaxed a little and let his gun fall to his side. Alfred slung the man over the man's horse and tied him there. He turned to Arthur and grinned. "Would you like the honor of leading him, or shall I?"

* * *

><p>Eventually, the man grudgingly admitted that his name was Sadiq. He didn't exactly claim innocence, and Alfred didn't push the issue of what he had done. It was clear that Alfred was convinced of his guilt – and frankly, after seeing Sadiq's general attitude, so was Arthur. Still, Alfred treated him like a person. He fed him the same food they ate and he didn't talk down to him or taunt him. Arthur, frankly, was impressed. He had only seen evidence so far that Alfred was a kind person, but he had still thought that Alfred might be different around someone whose face he had actually seen on a wanted poster. Apparently Alfred's sense of justice extended farther than Arthur had given him credit for.<p>

They spent two nights on the road with Sadiq before they reached a town. It was a bit small and dusty, and it had clearly seen better days, but it had a jail and a sheriff's office. Alfred had clearly been there before, because he made straight for the jail. A small man with dark hair and a quiet manner about him was sweeping out front. Alfred waved happily and called out, "Hey Kiku! Long time no see!"

The man straightened. "Indeed, Alfred-san," he said. He eyed Sadiq and his bound hands and feet, but his face remained carefully blank.

"I've got a prisoner for you," Alfred said cheerfully. He dismounted and untied Sadiq from the horse, then united his legs and pulled him down onto the ground.

Sadiq perked up a little and smiled at Kiku. Kiku blinked and looked back at Alfred. "I have space." He opened the jail and they went inside, Alfred pushing their prisoner ahead of him. Kiku unlocked an empty cell. Alfred quickly untied Sadiq's hands and pushed him inside. Kiku locked the door and took a step back.

There was only one other occupied cell in the jail, and it was the one across from Sadiq's. The man occupying it had come to the front of his cell and was watching them curiously. Suddenly, he loosely gripped the bars of his cell and pressed his face against them. "Sadiq?"

Sadiq, who had been rubbing his wrists and scowling, looked up. An expression of confusion crossed his face. "Heracles?" There was a moment of silence, and then both of them groaned in unison. "Not you!" Sadiq said.

"How are you ever going to repay me _now?" _Heracles said in disgust.

"Repay you?" Sadiq demanded. "I never owed you anything!"

"Yes you did! You ran off with all the goods! What happened to our deal?"

Alfred and Kiku exchanged a glance. Kiku looked worried. "I'm going to get the sheriff," he said quietly. He disappeared, leaving Alfred and Arthur alone with the two arguing criminals.

"Sure," Alfred said. He leaned against the wall. "Jeez, so much for honor among thieves and all that." Arthur nodded tensely in agreement.

Moments later, Kiku reappeared with the sheriff in tow. Sadiq and Heracles were so involved in their argument they barely looked up. The sheriff eyed the two outlaws and nodded. "That's them all right. There was a group robbery a few weeks back. I guess they were both fleeing in the same direction. The other one was put in here a few days back." The sheriff sighed. "I can give you your reward."

"Sounds good," Alfred said happily. The sheriff left the jail and Alfred began to head after him. The light from the open doorway caught Arthur's face. Heracles paused in what he was saying and looked thoughtfully at Arthur.

"Hey, do I know you?" Heracles asked.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, then quickly averted his eyes. "No," he said sharply. A shiver ran down his spine. Kiku watched the exchange from quiet, dark eyes. Arthur quickly walked past him and out the door after Alfred. His breathing was coming fast, but he tried to disguise it. _This is bad. This is very bad. _

He lingered outside the sheriff's office while Alfred got their payment. When Alfred came out, Arthur walked tensely with him to the horses. When they were out of anyone's hearing range, Arthur interrupted Alfred's chatter to ask tensely, "Did you hear that? He's seen me."

Alfred paused and shrugged. "I heard. Could have just been an accident."

"It wasn't." Arthur's voice sounded dead in his ears. "The posters got this far west. I can't believe it."

"Maybe they didn't," Alfred said. "Outlaws like those two roam, just like you and I. There's a fair chance they ended up back east a while back. Anyway, hasn't it been more than a year since you came over here? I doubt anyone still cares." Arthur's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything more.

* * *

><p>They found space at an inn and settled in for the night. They ended up in a one-bed room, but they were used to it by then and said nothing about it. Arthur barely slept that night. The same words turned around in his head, over and over: <em>Do I know you? Do I know you? <em>When Alfred woke the next morning, it was just after dawn and Arthur was already up.

Arthur had spread out the contents of his saddlebags on the floor and was condensing his belongings (or what were almost his belongings; so much of it was borrowed from Alfred, he could hardly even tell what was _his _anymore) into what could fit into a small linen knapsack. When Alfred noticed this, he sat up all the way. "Artie, what are you doing?"

Arthur didn't look up. "I'm packing."

"But, why?"

"It's time I left."

Alfred threw back the bedsheets and padded over to Arthur. He crouched down and tried to look into Arthur's eyes. "What's going on?"

The concern in his voice made Arthur glance up, but he immediately regretted it. Alfred's eyes were so blue, his expression was still soft from sleep, and there was such worry in his face that Arthur could barely stand it. He looked back down at the fabric beneath his hands. Clothes. He was packing clothes. He shoved his good shirt into the bag. "I can't stay here. You heard that man. It's not safe for me." A humorless smile curved his lips. "It's not safe for you, either. You're harboring a fugitive, and you know it." He fiercely pushed a pair of trousers in the bag; it was getting full.

"Arthur." Arthur didn't look up. "I already told you, you _are _safe here. Did you forget what I said? In the mountains?"

Arthur shook his head. "If it's the deal you're worried about, we're even. I mean it this time. Don't tell anyone where I've gone and that'll be more than enough to repay me for saving your life."

"That's not what I mean." Alfred sat down and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's hands stilled and he finally looked up. Alfred looked very serious. "I meant what I said. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. I trust you, and I'd 'ppreciate it if you did the same."

"It's not a matter of trusting you," Arthur said sharply. "It's a very simple matter of having done something wrong–"

"Look," Alfred interrupted. "This isn't about that. I . . . look, just don't leave, okay?" He searched Arthur's eyes. "Please?"

Arthur stared at him. Since when had Alfred _begged _him to do anything? "Why?" Arthur demanded. There was something in Alfred's eyes. . . .

Alfred quickly averted his eyes. A slight blush crept up his cheeks. "Heh, nothing. I understand if you want to go. I've just, you know . . . enjoyed working with you and stuff. It's . . . hard to find a good partner."

Arthur felt something warm grow in him. ". . . Partner?"

"A' course," Alfred said in surprise. "Haven't I been calling you that for a while now?"

"I guess I didn't think you were serious," Arthur muttered. He fiddled idly with the strap of the knapsack. "Do you really think . . . they don't know who I am out here yet?"

Alfred leaned forward and lay a gentle hand on top of Arthur's. Arthur looked up and Alfred smiled. There was a sparkle in his eye that reminded Arthur of the Alfred he had first met: Something warm, hidden beneath layers of fake smiles and fake words, that never gave up hope despite his personal sorrow or momentary setbacks. "I really think they don't know. We'll lay low for a while, yeah? And even if they do find ya, I'll make it more trouble than is worth their while."

Arthur let out a little breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "I guess . . . I can stay. Just a little longer, maybe," he added quickly.

Alfred grinned and squeezed his hand. "A little longer. Right." He withdrew his hand and Arthur suddenly missed it. "Let's get you unpacked then, huh?"

* * *

><p>After some convincing, Arthur agreed to stay in the town for another few days. They had nowhere they needed to go, and at least it was a quiet town and therefore probably pretty safe. Sometime after lunch, Alfred went to go visit Kiku and Arthur was left to his own devices. Arthur decided to wander about the town, although he was careful to mostly hide his face and be inconspicuous. He went in and out of shops. There was one that sold embroidery thread, which gave him pause. He stood outside the shop window and looked at the sample needlework. He paced back and forth a few times. Eventually he gave in and went inside.<p>

The window curtains were lace and there were doilies on the counter. He nearly cried for joy. _Civilization, _his instincts cried out. He bought some embroidery thread, a _real _needle, and the rest of a basic embroidery kit. He also bought a square of fabric – not that he had any idea what he was going to with half of a cover for a throw-pillow, but somehow he didn't think that embroidering edging on Alfred's shirts was going to cut it.

They had agreed to meet back at the inn at dusk for dinner, so Arthur showed up a little early and leaned against the wall of the inn by the door. Alfred didn't show up until it was very much dark, but Arthur found he didn't really mind. It was relaxing, just watching people walk past.

When Alfred rode up with a "Good evenin'," Arthur returned the greeting and approached him. "Ready for some grub?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," Arthur said with certainty. He was quite hungry.

"Great." Alfred nudged his horse over so its side was towards Arthur. He held out a hand. "Climb up."

Arthur stared at him. "Pardon?"

Alfred waggled his fingers. "I'll pull you up behind me. I found a good place to eat, but it's on the other side of town."

"My horse is not that far way," Arthur said weakly. Alfred didn't withdraw his hand. After a moment of deliberation, Arthur took hold of it and Alfred easily pulled him up behind him. Arthur flushed. He was sitting on the horse's far end, just behind the saddle, and Alfred was right in front of him.

"You can hold on if you need to," Alfred said with a grin. "Don't be shy." He turned back around and nudged his horse forward. The horse moved forward quite suddenly, and for a horrifying moment, Arthur thought he was going to fall off. He quickly grabbed onto Alfred's shirt, but only for an instant before he let go. He grabbed the back of the saddle and mumbled something under his breath. Alfred chuckled, deep in the back of his throat, and Arthur felt himself turn even redder.

"This really isn't necessary," he mumbled, but Alfred pretended to not hear him.

After dinner, they walked slowly back to the inn, talking. Alfred led the horse, as it really hadn't been that far away after all. They chatted about almost nothing at all, but Arthur soon found he was no longer constantly looking over his shoulder or down every dark alleyway – though what he had been expecting to see, he didn't know. There was something about Alfred that really did make him feel safe, even though something inside him told him he wasn't.

They went back to the inn. Alfred cleaned their gear that had gotten dusty from the trail, and Arthur took advantage of the lamplight to start his needlework. At first, he wasn't sure what it was going to be, but simply started filling in leaves and vines. Alfred was so absorbed in his work he didn't even know what Arthur was doing. It grew late, and Arthur set his work aside. Alfred had stopped cleaning. He was staring vacantly into space, a polished bridle laid over his knee. When Arthur asked if he could wanted him to turn out the lamp, Alfred blinked and nodded slowly. Arthur turned out the light and they got into bed.

* * *

><p>They stayed there another day, and another. Arthur became increasingly relaxed. They had no need of money at the moment, and it was pleasant to feel safe. One day, in late morning, Arthur and Alfred went for a walk.<p>

It was sunny and cold, with a slight breeze that made Arthur hunch his shoulders whenever it appeared. The dust of the roads was golden in the sunlight. Alfred, too, seemed to change in the bright light. There was an extra spring in his step, and he frequently bumped into Arthur as they walked. It didn't take long for him to start chattering about something – the food, maybe, or a rumor he'd heard. Arthur didn't tune him out, exactly, but the words washed over him in a comforting kind of meaningless noise. He caught phrases here and there. The important thing was, things were how they were supposed to be.

Supposed to be. What a strange feeling. Since when had things been _supposed _to be a certain way?

Lost in thought, Arthur didn't notice the bush growing by the side of the road until he almost walked into it. He stopped suddenly and Alfred nearly ran into him.

"–which was why I asked him – woah, Artie, ya didn't have to stop that suddenly – asked him what–"

"It's a rose," Arthur said dumbly.

Alfred stopped talking and finally followed Arthur's gaze. "Oh. A rose, huh?"

It was a spindly thing that clearly hadn't been getting enough water. Its branches seemed disorganized and they fell over one another as it tried to grow upwards. It was growing in a patch of dirt next to the side of a building that mostly devoid of other vegetation. Only a few flowers still clung to its branches. Most of them were dying, and there were no unopened buds left. The blooms that were still in their prime, or close to it, were a bright blood red.

"I haven't seen a rose since I left England," Arthur said.

"Oh, really?" said Alfred. He examined Arthur's reaction to the plant with interest. "I've seen some roses around these parts, though they're mostly little pink wild things."

"Hmm," Arthur said in response. He bent down and touched one of the roses with his fingertip. "We had a whole garden of them at home. They really looked gorgeous when they were all in bloom at once . . ." He let his hand fall and glanced up at Alfred. "They said you looked like a red rose, at Matthew's funeral."

Alfred looked surprised. "Really?" Then he chuckled and touched his head. "The hat, I guess."

Arthur looked back at the rosebush. "I think they meant more that you bloomed only for him," Arthur murmured.

Alfred saw Arthur's serious expression. He pulled out his knife, bent down, and cut off a long-stemmed rose. It was one of the better ones, only just coming into maturity. He smiled and twirled it in his hand for a moment. "I don't know, I think roses suit you more than they do me." He met Arthur's eyes, still smiling, and held it out to him. "You should hold onto it."

Arthur stared at the rose for a moment, then took it, gingerly. He sniffed it. It smelled nice.

"We should get something to eat," Alfred said. There was still a soft smile on his lips that made Arthur feel like he was being left out of a secret. "There's that place just around the corner."

"Of course," Arthur said. The rose quickly dropped from his face, but he held it carefully upright in one hand.

They walked down the road to the bar nearby. Alfred swung himself up onto a bar stool. Arthur looked with faint longing at an empty table in the quiet corner of the room, but sat down on a stool next to Alfred anyway. The bar wasn't too crowded – about half the tables were occupied, and almost all of the counter – but it was a small space and Arthur felt so exposed at the bar. Alfred ordered a drink and enough food for about five people. Arthur settled for some soup. He set the rose down on the counter next to his meal. Alfred quickly started talking, and Arthur tried not to wince as he attempted to eat and talk at the same time. They (meaning Alfred) were nearly done eating when Arthur noticed that Alfred's raucous laughter was the only noise in the room.

Arthur slowly turned his head, careful not to move too suddenly. He looked at the room from under lowered lashes. Though the counter had gradually been emptying, the men who had been sitting at the tables were still there. They were also all staring at Arthur and Alfred.

Arthur slowly turned back to face the back of the bar. He nudged Alfred as subtlety as he knew how. Apparently it was too subtle, because Alfred didn't give any indication that he had noticed. Arthur started fiddling with the rose. He bit his lip. Whoever those men were, and why ever they were staring, it wasn't good.

Finally, Alfred finished his last bite. He stretched with an exaggerated movement of his arms and a large yawn. Arthur was nearly dying of anxiety. "All done?" he asked Alfred sharply.

"Yup," Alfred replied. He fished around in his pockets for what felt like forever, and then pulled out some change and dumped it on the counter. "That deserved a tip, don't you think?" Alfred turned to Arthur with a sparkle in his eye. Very nearly at the end of his frayed nerves, Arthur scowled and nearly bit his tongue to keep from swearing at him. Alfred slid off his bar stool and said loudly, "Guess we'd best be leaving."

Just as the two of them were starting towards the door, there was the clink of glass against wood and someone said, "Are you Alfred Jones?"

Alfred turned around slowly, without any sense of surprise, and Arthur realized that he had known all along. Alfred's grin was strained, though to the untrained eye, it was an innocent smile full of good cheer. "Why yes, that's me."

The man stood up very slowly. His hand hovered above his holster. "You caught one of our men a few days ago and turned him in." The rest of the men stood up, just as slowly. "He's in jail, because of you."

Strangely, Alfred's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, that's a real pity," Alfred said. He was still grinning, but he didn't sound like he thought it was a pity at all. "You must be Sadiq's friends. You know, I hear he's got someone else in there to keep him company. Didn't sound like they got along real well, though. It seemed like he was one of your men, but he stole some of your money or something?" Alfred shrugged. "Seemed like they both deserved what they got."

Someone whipped out a gun and shot at where Alfred's head had been moments before. Alfred practically tackled Arthur and pushed him up and over the counter. Arthur frantically grabbed at the rose as he went past it, and managed to grab hold of it. Alfred quickly followed after him just as the bottles behind the counter exploded in a flurry of glass.

Arthur ducked his head and quickly pulled out his revolver as glass showered down on the both of them. Alfred was pressed against the back of the counter, panting. He had already pulled out his pistol. He pressed his mouth to Arthur's ear. "I'll cover and you run for the back door, 'kay? Count of three."

"What–" Arthur began to protest, but Alfred had already moved away and gunfire drowned out his voice. Alfred held up three fingers: _Three . . . two . . . one. _They both stood up and fired in unison.

"I said get _to cover!_" yelled Alfred. Arthur ignored him and fired another shot. When most of the men ducked, Alfred took advantage of the moment to grab Arthur by the waist and pull him out the back door.

They ran as fast as they could across the small field behind the bar. Arthur stumbled on something, a rock, and dropped the rose. It was already losing petals left and right, and the stem and been broken when Arthur had been pushed over the counter, but he still tried to pick it back up. Alfred grabbed his hand. "Leave it," he said, and Arthur did. They reached the road, ducked down an alleyway, and zig-zagged across town. Finally, breathing so hard he couldn't speak, Arthur managed to tug on Alfred's sleeve and communicate that he couldn't go any further. Alfred pulled him behind a woodpile and they sat down, breathing hard.

Alfred caught his breath much more quickly than Arthur. "Why didn't you _run_?" he complained. "I told you I'd cover! You could have gotten us both killed." Arthur just glared at him. "At least neither of us got hit. Jeez!" Alfred suddenly grinned and chuckled. "Crazy, huh? Haven't ran that hard in a while."

"Aren't you _slightly _concerned about why they were chasing us?" Arthur demanded breathlessly.

Alfred grinned even wider. "When I first noticed them I thought they were there for _you_, so it was quite the welcome surprise! Can you imagine? Them going after _me?" _Alfred laughed. His laughter subsided quickly, but he was still grinning and there was still that light in his eye. He looked at Arthur, and Arthur could see every detail – his fringe, slightly damp with sweat, the slight flush on his skin from the sudden dash, the darker flecks in his bright blue eyes. Alfred leaned in, still smiling, and before Arthur was aware of what was happening, Alfred kissed him.

A jolt went through Arthur that left him tingling. He tensed automatically, his eyes wide. Alfred had closed his eyes and was gently easing his mouth around Arthur's upper lip. Arthur suddenly felt twice as aware of everything, of Alfred's mouth, of the scent of him, of his warmth. Arthur _wanted _him. For a mere instant, Arthur fought with himself (he shouldn't, he shouldn't want this) but his body went weak and he forgot that he had ever considered pulling away. He clutched lightly at the front of Alfred's shirt. Alfred reacted immediately by burying his hand in Arthur's hair and pulling him into a deeper kiss. They parted for a moment, still holding each other gently, and their eyes met. Arthur could see a longing in Alfred's eyes that he had never seen before. _How could I have missed this? _he wondered idly as Alfred rested his hand on his lower back and pulled him in for a gentler kiss. _What if I had missed this? _And suddenly, the fear of being hunted didn't matter anymore.

They packed up as soon as they got back to the inn, and they left before the sun had sunk past its high point. They rode to nowhere in particular. Every now and then, Alfred would nudge his horse closer to Arthur's and reach out a hand to touch him – on the arm, the hand, his cheek. Alfred never seemed to stop smiling – and for once, Arthur had a reason to smile almost as frequently in return.


	11. They dressed in red

_Chapter 11: They dressed in red_

After they set up camp that night, and after they had eaten, they sat on a blanket by the fire and settled against each other. Alfred looped an arm around Arthur and pulled him into a soft, slow kiss. Arthur leaned into him, relishing the feeling. They stayed that way for a long time, the fire slowly dimming beside them. Their kisses grew slower and sleepier, and eventually Arthur rested his head against Alfred's chest and sighed. "Bedtime?" Alfred murmured, and Arthur nodded. They crawled into the tent and curled up against one another. Alfred lay an arm across Arthur's waist and quickly fell asleep. Arthur managed to stay awake for only a little longer, watching Alfred sleeping. He fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

* * *

><p>As they traveled, they developed a new routine: Ride, frequently in comfortable silence; rest, which meant chatting and leaning against each other, or intertwining their fingers without thinking about it; and then, when they were done riding for the day, set up camp. After dinner, they would stay awake late into the night, cuddling and kissing away the cold and the chill of the night air.<p>

A few nights later, they were curled up as usual by the fire when Alfred grew strangely serious and quiet. Arthur looked up at him expectantly. After a moment, Alfred leaned over and nuzzled Arthur's neck. "Do you think," he started quietly, "You could tell me what happened . . . back in England?" He pulled back and looked into Arthur's cautious eyes. "You don't have to tell me, but I'd like to know."

"You mean when I killed him."

"Yeah."

Arthur went quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. Alfred put an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. Arthur paused and bit his lip. "I suppose I should start a bit farther back," Arthur said slowly. "With my family." Alfred rested his head on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur was comforted by the gesture. "My dad was in Parliament, and he was a very influential politician. My brothers all followed in his footsteps, and they all voted with him." He nudged Alfred a little with his shoulder. "I don't expect you to know a lot about politics, but suffice to say it was . . . corrupt."

Alfred chuckled, deep in his throat. The sound reverberated through Arthur's back. "You think I don't know how that works? Half the jailers and judges in the country are bribed up to their ears."

Arthur smiled a little and hummed in acknowledgment. "It wasn't all bribes of money, though; some of it was reputation." Alfred nodded. "Anyway, as you may expect – or maybe not, I suppose – I refused to become a politician. I didn't exactly have anything better to do with my life, but I did not want to get dragged into that mess. I suppose it would have been alright if I stopped there, but . . . I publicly denounced my father and brothers' actions." Arthur's mouth tightened. "I was disowned shortly after that, though I think my mother wasn't aware of it until it happened." Alfred made a sympathetic noise and gave his waist a squeeze. "It was all a very tense time. My father had some enemies in Parliament, and one of them apparently thought that I would suddenly be interested in politics if it meant I could vote against my father. He sent one of his men after me with an offer. I refused, of course, and the man . . . insulted me." Arthur's eyes darkened.

Arthur was silent for so long, Alfred thought he was done with his story. "That's it? Then you shot him?"

"No," Arthur said slowly. "No, that wasn't quite it." He rested his head against Alfred's shoulder with a sigh. "I have a sister."

Alfred made a little noise of surprise. "Really? What's her name?"

"Anna. Or Alice. Sometimes she goes by her middle name."

"Huh. Were you close?"

Arthur shrugged. "Mostly when we were younger. We've grown apart since, but compared to my brothers? Yes. I suppose I've always felt like I should be looking out for her. The man they sent after me . . . I'd met him before. He had been attempting to court her the season previously, but she'd refused him and my father hadn't pushed the issue. When he approached me, though, the man told me . . . he told me that if I didn't join Parliament and vote with his benefactor, he would personally ruin her reputation by slander." Arthur's hands clenched into fists and his voice became quieter. "He told me it wouldn't be lies. He told me that he already had ruined her honor." He nearly spat out the last word. He looked up at Alfred and his eyes were like green fire. "Maybe in your society honor isn't important, but in London, in the society we were part of, it is _everything." _

Alfred pulled him a little closer and kissed Arthur's forehead. "I understand," he said quietly.

Arthur looked away and his eyes took on a faraway look. His mouth straightened into a thin, drawn line. "It didn't even cross my mind to challenge him to a duel. He wouldn't have deserved the courtesy, anyway."

Alfred inhaled the scent of his hair and smiled a little. "If she's anything like you, I think she would have wanted you to do what you did."

Arthur smiled a little at that, too, though there was no humor in it. "Maybe she did."

* * *

><p>They traveled aimlessly, passing state borders with little regard for lines they couldn't see. They spent a lot of time close to one another, tentatively bridging the gap of physical contact – a brief touch there, a brush of the finger tips as they walked together, a tousling of hair. Each kiss was sweet and precious. Arthur stopped thinking about the future, even the future as he had thought of it previously, in seasons and years. He wanted the present to last forever.<p>

Eventually, they ended up in a railroad town. They had so far been avoiding them, but they needed to stop for the night and it was the nearest place. The next morning, the two of them went out to buy supplies. "We need to get that bridle repaired," Alfred said. "I'll go drop that off at the tanner's. Can you buy us our groceries?"

"Sure," Arthur replied. Neither of them had been to the town before, so they set off in separate directions (because Alfred, of course, refused to ask anyone for help). After several minutes of walking, Arthur hadn't found anything, so he approached a man who was shoveling manure off the street. "Excuse me," Arthur said politely. "Where might I find the grocery? Or a general store, if you have one."

The main straightened and shaded his gaze from the sun. "The store's about two streets that way." He jerked his thumb behind him. He looked back at Arthur and frowned a little. Actually, Arthur realized, he was looking at Arthur's forehead – or, more precisely, his eyebrows. "Hey . . ." the man said slowly, and Arthur realized that he wasn't wearing his hat.

"Thanks so much," Arthur said hurriedly, and walked swiftly away.

"Hey!" the man called after him. "You're the – He's the outlaw!"

Arthur's heart gave a horrible jolt. He sprinted for the nearest side-street, any possibility of appearing inconspicuous gone. His blood pounded in his ears and his breath tore at his throat. _Alfred, Alfred, _he thought – and then he realized that he had instinctively been running _towards _the direction Alfred had gone. He immediately skidded to a halt. _I was going to lead them to Alfred. I was going to get Alfred caught too. _He looked around him. He had to get away, get away from the men who were chasing him, but most of all, get away from Alfred. He couldn't run back towards the men, but he couldn't run in the direction he had been going either. _You need a horse, _was his next thought. He saw an alleyway and ran down it. Perhaps he had no idea where he was going, but this was a town, and where there was a town there were streets – and where there were streets, there were always places to run.

The alleyway opened onto a major road. There were men behind him, he knew, because a voice shouted, "Get him!" the moment Arthur hesitated. So after a quick glance behind him – they were armed, there were at least two of them – Arthur ran straight into the open space. Another one of the men shouted, "Don't just stand there! He's an outlaw!" and someone to Arthur's left grabbed his arm. It wasn't long before they had his hands pined behind his back, had forced him down onto his knees, and Arthur stopped struggling.

One of the men stood in front of Arthur. He cocked his pistol and aimed it at Arthur's forehead. "You're wanted by the law. There's a reward on your head, did you know that?" Arthur looked back at him unblinkingly. His heart was still beating far too fast, but he tried to force his breathing to slow. He attempted to look as disinterested as possible. The man didn't look impressed. "Were you working alone?" Arthur stared back at him. "_Where you alone?" _the man roared.

Everyone nearby had stopped what they were doing and were staring, Arthur knew, and a crowd was gathering. It wouldn't be long before the news reached Alfred that an outlaw had been caught, and then he would come racing to see what the trouble was. Arthur spat on the ground near the man's feet. "Of course I'm alone," he said in a low growl. "Don't you even know what I'm wanted for?"

"Matter of fact, I don't," the man said. "Mind telling?"

Arthur looked up. "Murder," he said, in the same quiet, low voice.

A murmur rippled through the men around him. "Is that so," the man said uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. "Up on your feet!" he said loudly.

Arthur rose to his feet slowly and with some difficulty. Someone produced some rope and tied his hands. "You're coming with us," another man said, and they pushed him forward.

As soon as they weren't watching Arthur's face, Arthur quickly scanned the crowd. There was a small commotion off to one side, and he saw a red hat bobbing in the sea of people. He saw Alfred appear. There was stricken expression on his face, and for one instant, their eyes met. Arthur quickly looked away. "Of course I am alone," Arthur said to the man now leading him by the arm, loudly this time. "I'm not even wanted on this continent. In case you haven't noticed, I'm English." _Please, Alfred, _he prayed, _Understand what I mean – don't come after me. Don't be heroic. Don't get yourself killed. We never met. _

"I noticed," the man grumbled. "That won't save you from the law."

They led him to the sheriff, who then threw him in jail.

* * *

><p>Alfred had barely started negotiating with the shopkeeper before he heard the excited murmurings from people outside. He looked out the window, mildly curious. When a boy outside yelled, "They caught an outlaw!" his heart nearly shot through his throat. He grabbed the still-broken bridle and raced outside. It wasn't difficult to figure out where he needed to go, because the crowd led him straight there. He worked his way to the front and stared.<p>

Arthur was on his feet, but his hands were tied and he was being pushed forward. Despite this, his expression was defiant and he held his head proudly. Alfred's heart ached at the sight. When Arthur started talking loudly about how he had no accomplices, Alfred understood exactly what Arthur wanted him to do. As much as he wanted to run up and save Arthur right then and there, he forced himself to stand still. He followed Arthur and the men at a distance until they locked him up, and then he went back into town. He bought a lot of supplies, especially food that would keep for a long time. Then he went back to the inn, packed up all their belongings, and waited.

That night, in the early hours of the morning, Alfred took their horses and tied them up near the jail, hidden from prying eyes. He walked right up to the door and knocked. The jailer opened the door, confusion clearly written across his face. Alfred grinned. "Nice evenin', huh?" he said, pushed the jailer back into the building, closed the door behind him, and struck the jailer in the forehead with the back of his pistol. The jailer stumbled and then fell heavily onto the floor. Alfred quickly unhooked the keys from the jailer's belt. Only when he straightened did he see Arthur watching him, stunned, through the bars of his cell. Alfred automatically smiled "Hey honey," he said, and started trying keys in the lock on his cell.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur blurted out.

"Rescuing you. What else would I be doing?" Alfred grinned at him briefly. The lock clicked and he swung open the door. He walked back over to the jailer, picked him up by the armpits, and began to drag him into the cell. Arthur was still standing inside it, staring. Alfred looked up at him. "You gonna move?"

Arthur silently stepped outside and watched as Alfred dragged the man into the cell. Alfred locked the door and tossed the keys on the floor, far enough away that none of the prisoners would be able to reach them. Alfred finally stopped moving and gave Arthur a sweet smile. He swept him up into a hug and Arthur buried his face in the collar of Alfred's shirt. It was a brief embrace. Alfred kissed Arthur quickly, but desperately: _I thought I was going to lose you. _Arthur looked up at him with dark eyes: _I'm sorry I dragged you into this. _They left the building holding hands. Alfred made sure to close to the door behind them.

They go on their horses quickly, and they left the town at a jog – they waited until they were out of the town limits to push their horses into a gallop. Before, they had been taking a wandering path that roughly followed a line of settlements east; now, their path veered west and deeper south. Before, they had been clinging to the edge of civilization. Now, they would have to leave it entirely.

They rode all night and only stopped when the sun's first rays peaked above the horizon. It was not particularly cold, but when Arthur dismounted, he found that he was shivering violently. They set up a basic camp – no fire, no tent – and then Alfred pulled Arthur into his arms.

"I'm sorry this had to happen," Alfred whispered. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. A tear trailed down his cheek. "I'm sorry I shot him. I shouldn't have. It seemed important at the time, but I was acting selfishly, and now I've messed everything up, haven't I?" He closed his eyes and pressed his nose into the crook of Alfred's neck. "I'm sorry for everything," he whispered.

"I'm glad you killed him." Arthur looked up at the strength of his words. Alfred looked down at him and stroked his hair, though his hand trembled slightly. He smiled weakly. "If you hadn't, I never would have met you, and I don't know what I would have done. I was lonely before Mattie died, you know," he said, and his voice broke a little. "Out here, in a place like this?" He spread out his arm, taking in the whole landscape. "You go crazy if you're all alone. So don't have any regrets about things you can't change, because – because I certainly don't regret meeting you."

Arthur buried his face in Alfred's shirt and let out a quiet sob. He dried his eyes and turned his face to one side. All he could see was the line of Alfred's jaw and his shirt collar. "I love you," Arthur whispered.

Alfred's hand tightened on his back. He placed a hand against Arthur's jaw and pulled him up into a fierce kiss. Alfred looked deep into his eyes. "I love you too," he said. His voice was husky and deep. Arthur tangled his fingers in his hair and kissed him again.

Everything was going to be alright.

* * *

><p>The sheriff and his men came upon them while they were sleeping. The pounding of hooves woke them just before they were in range. Alfred scrambled out of his sleeping bag and unholstered his pistol. Arthur felt his throat constrict, and though he managed to stand, he only stood there, frozen in fear. There were four men, and they were all mounted and armed. "Give up the outlaw," the sheriff said.<p>

"Which one?" Alfred asked, and then he shot the sheriff through the heart.

All the horses snorted and pranced. One of them tried to run away, and its rider was nearly unseated. Alfred put his hat on his head, grabbed Arthur, and forced him to get onto his horse. Alfred's hat shone blood-red in the sun. He shot at one of the other men and missed, but it was enough of a diversion to give him time to grab their saddlebags and toss them over his saddle. He kicked his horse into a gallop and Arthur's horse was only too eager to follow it. For whatever reason – shock, fear, or something else – the other men did not follow them. When Arthur glanced back, he saw them hauling the dead sheriff onto one of their horses.

They were both wanted men now.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em>Hmm, yes, a bit of a short chapter. Sorry about that.

A note on Anna: I was a bit uncertain about introducing Arthur's "sister," even just as a side character that never actually appears (sorry if you were hoping to meet her). For some reason, though, she's really stuck in my head-canon for Arthur's life back in England for this AU, so I just went with it. She's actually supposed to be his nyotalia version, since I think Himaruya expressed that he intended the nyotalia to be kind of like sisters to the more standard characters (correct me if I'm wrong). I named her Anna because that's King Arthur's sister's name in some versions of the Arthurian legend (hoho), but I threw in Alice as her middle name because that seems to be a popular fan name for her (they don't have canon names yet, right?). That was kind of a long explanation for a character who you don't even see. 'orz

Oh, and Happy Halloween. :)


	12. Louis went downtown

_Chapter 12: Louis went downtown for a new suit of clothes_

They rode until their horses were exhausted. Arthur's terror had been lost in the wind, and now he was simply in a state of shock. His hands had gone cold and stiff on the reins, but he didn't care. All he could think about was Alfred – and he wasn't even sure how he felt about him, either.

Alfred had not said a word to him since. He had not looked at him, either, as far as Arthur could tell, except once before Arthur had caught up to him. He had glanced back briefly to check that he hadn't been left behind. Now he rode leaning forward, his back ramrod-straight, and no expression on his face. It was Arthur who finally pulled his horse down to a walk, and Alfred who noticed after only a few steps and did the same. They walked in silence for a long time. Finally Arthur cleared his throat and said roughly, "The horses need to rest."

Alfred looked down at his horse as though he had forgotten about it. "I suppose you're right," he said. Arthur turned his horse towards a tree, even though its bare branches would provide little shade. Alfred followed him. They dismounted. Alfred automatically began putting together a meal. Arthur nearly began to set up the tent before he realized that it was nearly midday. With nothing better to do, he sat down, leaned back against the tree, and closed his eyes.

"Here," Alfred said some time later, and Arthur opened his eyes to a sandwich on a plate.

"Thank you," he said. Alfred sat down heavily next to him and they began to eat. After a while, Arthur had finally gathered his thoughts together enough to want to talk. He looked at Alfred, who had finished eating and was once again staring blankly ahead. "Alfred," Arthur said. Alfred bit his lip and then looked up at him. Finally, _finally, _Arthur saw that pair of beautiful blue eyes. "Are you alright?" Arthur asked tentatively.

"I–" Alfred started, and then stopped himself. He looked down at his hands. "Maybe," he said in a small voice.

Arthur set aside his plate. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Alfred's mouth twisted unhappily. "I guess – I don't know. Yeah." He rubbed at one of his eyes and Arthur pretended not to notice. "I had to, I know it, but still . . . he was a person." Alfred whispered the last few words.

Arthur reached over and tentatively rubbed his shoulder. Alfred leaned into his touch for a moment, and then he wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders and pulled him against him. "You're not mad at me because of it, are you?" Alfred whispered.

"Mad at you? Why would I–" Arthur sighed and rested his head on Alfred's shoulder. He was silent for a moment. "I forgive you, if that's what you need," he said quietly.

Alfred breathed out heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly, ain't I?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. You'd never killed a man before, then?"

"Once. It was a long time ago." His hands tightened on Arthur's shoulders. "He would have killed us. One life for two. That isn't so bad, is it?" His voice broke a little.

Arthur wasn't sure if by "us" he meant them, or Alfred and Matthew. He didn't ask about the first man Alfred had killed. Somehow, he didn't think it really mattered. He stoked Alfred's knee, over and over, and eventually Alfred's harsh breathing relaxed. They didn't speak of it again.

* * *

><p>They ran for a long time – because that was what it was now, running, not simply riding. They tried to ration their supplies, but they could only go so far. Alfred started to fidget frequently, and Arthur could tell he wanted to say something, but he never did. Finally, when they were quickly running out of time and food, Alfred brought it up. "I know of someplace we could get a job," he said.<p>

Arthur took a moment to reply out of surprise. "A job?"

"Yeah. There's, um . . . it's getting to about the time when there might be cattle drives happening. If you wouldn't be opposed, we could get hired as some . . ." When Arthur didn't say anything, Alfred started speaking more quickly. "It would give us cover to get really far away from here. We'd probably be crossing all kinds of state lines. The kind of people who work as cattle hands are not much the type to ask questions, and as they're all strangers anyway we wouldn't be out of place. It's usually one of them that does the hiring, not the high-up owner of the herd, so . . ." Alfred peeked at Arthur from under the brim of his hat. Arthur blinked back at him. "It might be a good idea," Alfred ended lamely.

"If you think it would be a good idea," Arthur said carefully, "I wouldn't be opposed to it. There is, however, the problem that I have never worked with cattle before."

Alfred bit his lip. "Right. About that . . . I don't think there's much we can do, but I was thinking, the team will need a cook. You could, erm, pretend to cook meals. I'd help," he added hastily.

Arthur straightened a little. "That doesn't sound like such a bad idea. I can cook."

Alfred winced a little. "Er, right."

"So where would we go to get hired?"

"I know a place somewhere around here."

* * *

><p>Several days later, they found themselves in the outskirts of some dusty little town with a bunch of other equally dusty men. Arthur had been worried that they would no longer fit in after their many weeks of travel (and very little bathing), but most of the other men there looked much rougher than they. In fact, Arthur and Alfred looked probably the least like outlaws out of the lot of them.<p>

Alfred did all the talking, and he charmed the leader of the group into hiring them easily. Arthur was a bonus (or so the leader of the group seemed to think), since cooks were apparently difficult to find. Arthur had insisted that Alfred not wear his rather noticeable hat while trying to get hired, but after the fact, since no one seemed in the slightest suspicious, Alfred put it back on. As he reasoned to Arthur later, it was so covered in dust at this point it wasn't even really red anymore.

The whole group camped together that night, for they were leaving early the next morning. Arthur stayed very quiet and watched all the other members of the team for any sign of suspicion, while Alfred quickly gained a reputation as the loudest member of the group. His laughter was infections, and it didn't take long for everyone to be acting like his best friends. He also managed to do most of the cooking, which made Arthur somewhat miffed, but he figured he would have many more chances to showcase his abilities.

The next morning, they all mounted their horses, herded the cattle out of their temporary enclosure, and set off. It was very much like traveling with Alfred, Arthur found – though perhaps that was because he was able to get away without really interacting with the cattle at all. That night, Arthur cooked the first meal. For some reason, no one seemed very hungry, but he chalked it up to the heat (for the winter was finally coming to an end). That night, though, he found the loneliness set in. He set up his bedroll next to Alfred's, but they were still an arm's length apart. Arthur lay on his side, watching Alfred sleeping profile. As the light from the fire dimmed, Alfred rolled over and opened his eyes. They simply looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Alfred reached out a hand. It stretched across the distance between them. Arthur took it. His hand was as warm as his palm as calloused as always. Alfred rubbed a finger idly across the back of Arthur's hand. _This won't last so long, _Alfred's gaze said. _We only have to pretend for a little bit. _

Arthur's eyes closed, and he drifted to sleep with his hand still resting in Alfred's warm, strong fingers.

* * *

><p>Several days later, a full-grown cow got loose from the herd and decided to set off on its own. With much yelling, most of the team worked to hem in the rest of the herd to keep any others from following. Arthur tried to stay out of the way.<p>

Alfred, however, set off after the cow at a gallop. Arthur watched in awe as he unfastened his lasso from his saddle and began looping over his head mid-stride. He managed to catch up the cow and lasso it. His horse immediately stopped and braced itself. The cow bucked a little and did everything it could to shake off the rope. Alfred held the rope taught and did not budge a muscle. Arthur very rarely saw a demonstration of exactly how strong Alfred was, but this was one. He gaped as Alfred actually managed to _drag the cow back a few steps. _When he shaded his eyes, he could faintly see Alfred's muscles bulging from the effort. Another cattle hand went to help him, and they managed to escort the cow back to the herd. Arthur saw that Alfred was grinning.

Arthur knew he wasn't the only one who was impressed.

* * *

><p>About a week after they had set out on their long trek (for they would be gone for a long time, herding that many cattle across a long distance), the men were gathered around the campfire after a long day. They started telling stories, as they always did, but this time they were about outlaws. Sometimes ghosts got mixed into the stories too, and Arthur had serious doubts that the majority of them were even slightly true. Alfred, however, looked rather nervous at the mention of ghosts, and scooted closer to Arthur.<p>

"I even heard once about a sheriff-turned-outlaw," one man said. "Didn't like something one of the outlaws he was chasing did to him, so he went off chasing him for revenge. Ended up killing loads of 'em against the law's wishes."

"Aw, that's nothing," said someone else. "I heard there was an outlaw with a hat red as blood. He never could be killed, and he dyed it with the blood of his victims."

Arthur's hand froze, his spoonful of beans halfway out of the bowl.

"No, you're wrong there," broke in another one. "He was a good one. He dyed his hat with the blood of all the _outlaws _he killed."

"Outlaws, innocents, don't make no difference. Still is _blood_."

There was a general outcry at that. "Besides, no man with a hat like that is gonna be one of the good ones," someone stated, and there was a general agreement at that.

Arthur looked at Alfred, wide-eyed. Alfred looked back at him. _"What is going on?" _mouthed Alfred.

_"You tell me," _Arthur mouthed back.

"You gentlemen have it all wrong," said someone clearly. Arthur and Alfred both looked up a little too quickly. The man was lounging against a rock, his hat in his hand. "He wasn't on some mindless killing spree. He was on a search for _revenge._" A murmur of interest rippled around the circle. The man leaned forward a little. "_I _heard his lover got killed, and he wouldn't rest until he found the one who did it," he said in a low, serious voice.

Alfred burst out laughing. Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin. Everyone stared at him. Alfred kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing. Finally, still chuckling, he stood up, walked over to his bags, and pulled out his hat. He plopped it on his head and sat back down. "I have a red hat, you know," he said with a grin.

For a moment, everyone stared at him, stunned. The chuckles started slow and nervous, but they gradually formed into full-fledged laughter. Soon, even Arthur was smiling, though in a very strained way. People's inability to see what was right in front of their eyes would never cease to amaze him. His eyes tracked Alfred's movement as he ladled himself another bowl of soup. Alfred, though – Alfred was really just something special.

* * *

><p>The cattle drive took them through the spring thaw. Arthur was quickly denied his position as cook for reasons unfathomable to him, but he picked up the business of herding cattle well enough and he earned his pay. By the time they were done, Arthur was considerably more tanned, enough to be unrecognizable at a glance. Their hats were dusty and dirty, and they looked like any other cattle hands fresh off a job.<p>

They left as soon as they had their pay. As a treat to themselves, they finally stayed in a town for the first time in months. Arthur took a bath so long he nearly fell asleep in it. He got dressed in the cleanest outfit of his he could find, and then gathered up his discarded clothes in a bundle. When he stepped into the room they shared, he found Alfred still sitting on the bed in the same dusty, dirty clothes he had been wearing since they left the trail. Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Strip," he commanded.

Alfred grinned up at him. "You've missed me that much? You were only in there for an hour."

Arthur shoved his bundle of clothing under one arm and held out his other hand. He was having none of Alfred's nonsense. "I said, strip. I'm washing our clothes, including the ones you're wearing right now. You look as though you just crawled out of a ditch."

Alfred chuckled, but began to obediently pull his shirt over his head. "Jee, honey, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

A smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's mouth, but he grabbed Alfred's shirt from him almost as soon as it was off his head. "After I've found all the rest of your clothes, I'll leave the cleanest outfit I can find by the bath. Go clean yourself up now, love."

Alfred stood and kissed him on the top if his head. "Yes, dear." He left the room grinning.

Arthur smirked a little, then pulled together the rest of their clothes. He was going to scrub them until they looked like new.

* * *

><p>Over an hour later, Alfred finally came looking for him. Arthur was only just hanging out their clothes to dry. Alfred whistled. "You really went to work on them, didn't you?"<p>

"They're finally clean, if that's what you mean," Arthur replied. He glanced at the sky. "It's before noon still. They'll be dry by this afternoon."

Alfred pecked him on his cheek. "Thanks," he said.

Arthur blushed a little. "You're welcome."

Alfred's arms snaked around Arthur's waist. "Now, about that bed we finally have all to ourselves . . ."

"Oh, shut it," Arthur said, and smacked his arm lightly, but he didn't protest _too _much when Alfred picked him up bodily, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him all the way back to their room.

* * *

><p>When their clothes were finally dry, Arthur recruited Alfred to help him fold them. Arthur dumped the clothes in a big pile on the newly-made bed and pulled out a shirt. Alfred kissed him on the head, and then reached around him to pull out a pair of trousers. Arthur lay the shirt flat on the bed and began to fold it carefully, one arm at a time.<p>

Alfred folded the trousers in half in a careless way and threw them into a drawer. Arthur gritted his teeth but said nothing; they were Alfred's trousers, and if he wanted everything to be wrinkled, he would just have to deal with it. Next, however, Alfred pulled one of Arthur's favorite vests out of the pile. Alfred sort of shook it out and and chuckled. "You and your old man clothes," he said, and (without folding it!) threw it into a drawer of the dresser.

"Excuse me?" Arthur demanded as he straightened up sharply. "Did you just call me _old?" _

Alfred looked at him far too innocently. "Yes?"

Arthur put a hand on his hip. "And why, pray tell, would you say that?"

A slow grin appeared on Alfred's lips. "Touchy about it, are we?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I'll have you know that I am not old. How old are _you_?"

"What?" Alfred burst out laughing. "I'm 19."

"Oh dear God," said Arthur. His hand dropped from this waist and his face went a little pale. _Only 19? He's so young. _

"Why, how old are you, old man?" Alfred was grinning. "27?"

"Twenty– I'm 23, I'll have you know!" Arthur said indignantly.

"Now you're just jerking my chain," Alfred said happily. "No way."

"I– !" Arthur began, but Alfred cut him off with a kiss. Arthur felt his lips curve into a smile against his will, and he kissed Alfred back. When they parted, Arthur tried to glare up at him. "How did you never mention that you were so young?"

"I never wanted to make you feel bad, being around such a young, handsome thing as me," Alfred said cheekily. He swept Arthur into another kiss, and Arthur was forced to let it go. After all, he could hardly be mad at Alfred for it.

That night, though, as he sat embroidering by the lamplight, he wondered how old Alfred must have been when he ran away from home.

* * *

><p>They didn't stay in town for too long, of course, just a few days to gather things together. They had learned their lesson about becoming too content before. "It's almost summer," Alfred said the day they left, and when their trail began to wind in the direction of that town they had left so long ago, Arthur did not protest. Somehow, it almost felt like they were going home.<p> 


	13. Dress up for Delia like a fine red rose

_Author's note: _This is the last chapter. Yup. And lucky 13 again, how did that happen? :)

Today also happens to be the last day of NaNoWriMo (I won :'D), which means it's almost finals, which means it's almost Christmas break, which means I am _so close _to being able to write like crazy again!

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 13: He's gonna dress up for Delia like a fine red rose<em>

It took a long time for them to return to the little town across the mountains. They first had to gather the supplies that Alfred had promised to deliver. He revealed to Arthur that he had actually been stocking up on them for a long time, which was why his saddle bags always seemed so much fuller than they should have been. It was mostly small things – good pots and pans, knives, some candies for the children. Medicine, though, was what they really needed. Picking and choosing was the hardest part. It was all expensive, and it would all be useful in some situation. They snuck into out-of-the-way towns and visited doctors that Alfred had apparently met before, presumably for the same purpose. He got mostly basic medicine that would be likely to be used; effective painkillers, cough medicine, things to fight infection. "This," Alfred told him at one point, as he secured a selection of medicine in his saddlebag, "is worth more than gold." Arthur remembered only too well how much the gold they had carried had been worth: Their lives, if they lost it.

They went back over the mountains, but it was very different from the first time. The pass was easier, for with the spring thaw much of the stone had melted, but that also meant mud. It could have been worse, but they still had to slog through it sometimes, leading the horses through the stuff. Alfred was hopeful they would run into Francis again, but they didn't. Even if he had chosen to postpone his move to the west, and even if he had happened to stay in a place where they would have run into him, he had doubtless moved once the thaw started. By the time they reached the other side of the mountains, it was truly summer.

They were nearly at their goal when they caught word of a robbery that had just taken place a few miles south of there. Apparently three men, armed and apparently dangerous, had held up the guards in a train carrying gold east and had stollen all of it. Two of the men had been caught, but the third was still loose somewhere. The sheriff in the town the two of them were being held at was getting mighty nervous that a jail break was going to be attempted, so he was trying to push for an execution without a trial. Arthur was with Alfred when the bartender told him the story, and Arthur saw the frown that settled on Alfred's face. "Where are they being held?" Alfred demanded.

"Oh, that town just north of here. You know the one. You got a cattle-running job there a few years back, if I recall correctly."

Alfred scattered some change on the counter. "Oh, I think I do know the one. Thanks for the news," he said, and left the bar in a hurry.

"Alfred," Arthur said as they stepped outside.

"Hmm?" Alfred asked. He looked at Arthur and was suddenly all smiles.

"Don't you play innocent with me," Arthur growled. "I know that look."

"What look?" Alfred asked, even more innocent-looking than before.

"The look where you've noticed that someone is doing something _wrong _and you have to go correct them."

"I don't–"

"Hey. Stop and look at me for a second." Alfred stopped and turned around. Arthur crossed his arms and glared at him. "Now, I know you want to be the hero and save everyone–"

"I _am _the hero."

"Okay, you are the hero. But you can't just go off and do reckless things without thinking them through!"

"Like what?"

"Like trying to rescue some _outlaws_–" Arthur realized what he was saying and stopped. "Well, look, they probably–" He hesitated.

Alfred crossed his arms. "What? Deserve to die?"

"Well, no," Arthur said lamely. "But still–"

The looked at each other for a moment. "You know I'm going to go, right?"

"Yes," Arthur said with a sigh. "And you know I'm going with you."

Alfred grinned. "Yup." He glanced around and then gave Arthur a quick peck on the lips. "That's my Artie."

Arthur turned a little pink. "Don't think I won't drag you right back here if it doesn't go well."

"But of course." Alfred smiled at him and mounted his horse.

* * *

><p>It didn't take them long to get to the town in question. The first thing they did was to find the jail. "I just want to see if I can talk to them," Alfred told Arthur quietly. Arthur had a bad feeling about the whole thing, but he just nodded and kept his hand on his holster.<p>

They tied their horses up nearby and then walked quietly around to the front. To their surprise, there was no guard in sight, though the door did appear to be locked. There was, however, a small man with dark brown hair and a curious curl sticking out of it who was apparently trying to break in.

"Stupid tomato-bastard and _fratello,_" the man muttered as he tried angrily tried to poke a bit of metal wire in the lock. "_Bastardi_, the both of them."

"Excuse me," said Alfred with a smile, "But do I know ya?"

The man jumped and turned around with a terrified expression. When he saw who it was, his expression became one of confusion, and then one of annoyance. "Oh, you again," he said. He looked between the two of them and scowled. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you're going to shoot me now, or something. Don't you know that you're outlaws now, too? Go mind your own business."

"Actually, we were going to offer you our help, if I'm understandin' this correctly," Alfred said with a grin. "You're one of the Vargas brothers, right?"

"So what if I am?" The man crossed his arms and scowled.

"Where's your brother and the other one?"

"Where do you think?" He spat on the ground. "Feliciano and that bastard got thrown in there, of course, because neither of them have ever had an intelligent thought in their heads." He jerked his thumb towards the jail behind him and rolled his eyes.

Alfred's eyes lit up hopefully. "Are they being executed without a trial?"

"Yeah, tomorrow," Lovino said in a bored voice, but his shoulders were tense.

"Great!" Alfred said, perhaps a little too excitedly. Lovino gave him a look as if he had just gone insane. "We're here to help you rescue them."

"Why?" Lovino asked suspiciously.

"He thinks they deserve a trial," Arthur said. Frankly, he completely understood Lovino's doubt. He wasn't sure that he'd trust Alfred if he was in his position, either.

"So, are you gonna let us help?" Alfred asked.

Lovino's eyes narrowed. "Uh, not if you're just going to turn them in again afterwards," he said with a glare at Alfred.

Alfred seemed to think about it for a minute. "I think we can let it slide," he said finally. "You know, since you didn't try to kill Artie last time. Just shot him in the leg," he said lightly.

"And he shot Toni back for it," Lovino growled. "He almost _died_."

"Oh, right," Alfred said, and looked a little more serious. "To repay you for that, then?"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Whatever. If you're gonna try to pick the lock, though, I've already tried–"

Alfred walked up to the door and kicked the lock solidly. There was a horrible snapping crunching noise and the door swung open. Alfred walked inside, whistling happily. Lovino and Arthur stared at him for a moment, open-mouthed. Arthur recovered first and followed him inside. "You're way too happy about this," he muttered.

Alfred grinned. "Come on, we're saving people. I'm not allowed to feel good about this?"

"We're being outlaws," Arthur pointed out.

Alfred's smile fell from his face. "I know," he said more quietly. "I just . . . You made me rethink things. These aren't bad people. They didn't choose the right way to make their living, but they do what they do for a reason. I've never really felt like I've fit in with Mattie's world. Trying to do good by people was so difficult. Half the outlaws I turned in didn't get trials before I realized what was going on." He stopped in front of a cell that held two familiar-looking prisoners. "I guess this is my way of trying to set that right." He examined the lock. "Hey, I think you might be able to pick this one," he called over his shoulder.

Lovino walked slowly into the jail. Arthur watched him. His face was pale and he was looking at one of the men in the cell.

"Lovi!" cried Feliciano. He jumped forward and pressed his face up against the bars. "You came! Toni and I were getting lonely without you."

"Hey Feli," Lovino said distractedly. His eyes flickered to Feliciano's face, but they quickly returned to the other man in the cell.

Antonio rose slowly and smiled. "Lovi, _mi tomate._ How nice of you to rescue us."

Lovino turned a little red and muttered something indistinct. Arthur smiled. Alfred rocked back and forth impatiently on his feet and seemed completely oblivious. "Are you gonna get them out or not?" he asked. His eyes flickered to the door. "I don't know how long the guard's gonna be gone."

"Right," Lovino muttered. His fingers trembled as he tried to pick the lock, but he managed it relatively quickly. Soon, they were all out of the jail and heading for their horses.

"Hey," Alfred called to them as they began to mount, "If you guys don't have anywhere in particular you're going, you could come with us." Arthur glanced at him. Alfred seemed hesitant but hopeful.

"Yeah?" Lovino asked, though much less suspiciously than before. "Where's that?"

"A little town near here. It's my home, I guess."

The three men exchanged a glance. "That sounds nice," Antonio finally said. "We'd be happy to travel with you."

Alfred smiled, and Arthur could see that it was honest. "Great," he said, and began to lead them out of town. Arthur eyed Alfred curiously. He apparently wanted to be friends with these people. It was not a choice he would have expected, but he supposed that in a way, they were the most honest people he and Alfred knew who wouldn't shoot them on sight. That had to count for something.

They made good time, for they were all used to riding hard. When the town came into sight, they slowed their pace. "We should probably go on ahead," Alfred told the other three. "I don't want them to be too surprised."

Antonio nodded. "Of course. We'll wait a little and then follow?"

"Sounds good." Alfred and Arthur split off from the group. They rode slowly and in comfortable silence. There was no hurry. It was late afternoon, but the sun would not set for hours yet. Soon, they were nearly at the gates.

"I can hardly believe it," Alfred breathed. "After all this time, there's home – and it does feel like home, too." He shook his head. "I always go away for so long, but it sure does feel nice to come back."

Arthur was worried about what exactly they would find when they reached the town, for he was not the only outlaw out of the two of them now, but he held back his words. He trusted Alfred's judgement, and besides, they would find out soon enough.

Alfred took off his hat and waved it at the wall in greeting. "Ahoy," he called up to the sentry with a grin. "Let a couple of travelers in?"

The sentry said nothing, but disappeared, and soon the gates were opening. They rode through them and into the town itself. They both pulled their horses to a halt quite suddenly, for waiting for them were five men, mounted and armed – and their pistols were all pointing at the two of them.

"What's this?" Alfred asked in a low voice.

The middle one lowered his pistol somewhat and Arthur realized that it was Gilbert. He was wearing a dark grey hat and a leather vest. A star was pinned to it – a sheriff's star, Arthur realized with a shock. He felt his stomach sink.

"Why, hello Alfred," Gilbert said with a grin. "Imagine you coming back, after all this time."

"Where's the old sheriff?" Alfred asked.

"He retired a little while back. Put me in charge instead."

"I see," Alfred said warily. "And did he tell you that we had a deal, to let me back here, no matter what?"

Gilbert's grinned. "Seems to me that's a deal you made with _him. _I certainly don't recall being a part of that." He waved his pistol in the air a little. "I seem to remember hearing something about . . . oh, what was it . . . a man with a red hat who committed murder? I think he might have been traveling with a convicted–"

"I have supplies," Alfred said, interrupting him. "Cookware, ammunition, medicine. Some furs, too, though I know we have enough fur traders coming through as it is."

"Matter of fact, there's one here right now," said one of the other men.

Gilbert made a face. "Yeah, some Frenchie. Your furs probably won't get you much with him here."

Alfred cocked his head in interest. "A French fur trader? Would his name happen to be–"

"Hey, no getting off track," Gilbert said with a scowl. "I don't recall saying that you were in a position to be asking questions. In fact," he said, leaning forward a little in the saddle, "You may have goods, but that won't get you entrance here.." He glared at Alfred. "I have some questions for you."

"And what would those be?" Alfred's mouth was tight.

"Why it is I've been hearing rumors that describe two men who sound a lot like you and your friend over there." He nodded towards Arthur, but didn't bother to look away from Alfred.

"That's none of your business." Alfred's expression had become cold and unfeeling. Arthur was distantly surprised to find that though his heart was beating perhaps a little quicker than normal, he felt no fear. They would run or they would fight, and that was all. It wasn't so bad a fate when he thought about it like that.

"As the most awesome sheriff this little town has ever known, I most certainly do think it is my business," Gilbert returned.

"I think you know why you've been hearing those rumors. I'm not going to explain to you what you already know," Alfred said.

"Look," Gilbert said, suddenly more serious, "I know we parted on not the best of terms. I wasn't the greatest friend to you back then, but I know you, Jones. So just tell me, why did you do it?"

They both knew it was the closest to an apology that Alfred was going to get out of him. It was also the closest Alfred was going to be able to come to an admission of what he had done. Alfred's mouth tightened. "Because I was protecting someone I love." Gilbert and Alfred locked eyes for a moment. Gilbert looked away first. They were both thinking of the same thing: The last time Gilbert had had a pistol aimed at Alfred. "Matt would have forgiven you, even if you had shot me," Alfred said quietly. "That's just how he was. He couldn't help himself when it came to things like that."

Gilbert cleared his throat gruffly. "Well, I suppose it isn't our business to keep you from seeing him." He nodded his head to his men. They parted so that Alfred and Arthur could pass. Alfred silently urged his horse forward and Arthur followed him. The first place they went was to the house of the widow that lived in the town. Without dismounting, Alfred handed her a pot and some cloth from his saddlebag with a smile. She was very grateful and kept calling them "such kind young men." Next they went to the doctor's house, where Alfred carefully handed the doctor all the medical supplies they had brought. They went to the baker's home, the tailor's, and the blacksmith's; they visited nearly every person in the town and brought them something. The easy affection the town had always given to Alfred was now transferred a little to Arthur, too. They would smile at him, and sometimes take his hand and thank him. If any of the rest of the town had heard of the outlaw with the blood-red hat and his companion with the bright green eyes, they didn't show it.

Antonio and the Vargas brothers rode into town a little while later. Apparently Gilbert had not heard of them, for he received them with only a slight look of suspicion at how closely on Alfred and Arthur's heels they had arrived. It quickly became apparent, however, that any suspicion he might have had disappeared as soon as he started talking with Antonio. They were quickly becoming good friends when Francis appeared. "Alfred!" he cried in joy when he saw him. "I thought I would never see you again. Still with _rosbif, _I see?"

"Good to see you, Francis," Alfred said with a smile.

Arthur scowled. "Hello to you too, frog," he said irritably.

Francis's eyes landed on Antonio and he frowned thoughtfully. "Excuse me, but have we met?"

"I think so," Antonio said happily. "In the mountains. I'd just been shot."

"Oh, yes," said Francis. His eyes lit up in recognition while Lovino looked ready to kill Antonio for nearly giving them away.

"You got shot?" Gilbert asked curiously.

"Yup," Antonio said. "Hunting accident." Everyone present besides Gilbert and Antonio barely repressed a sigh of relief. "Gil, what were you saying about that canary you rescued?"

Gilbert quickly puffed out his chest and forgot about what they had been talking about. "His name is Gilbird. Want to meet him?" Antonio's eyes lit up.

"What is this Gilbird you speak of?" Francis asked curiously. Alfred and Arthur exchanged a smiling glance. Clearly, they had nothing to worry about. Shortly thereafter, Alfred slipped away from the little group. Arthur followed him and found him mounting his horse.

"Come on," Alfred said with a little smile. Arthur silently mounted his own horse as well. He could have asked where they were going, but he didn't think he needed to.

They stopped at the little group of trees out at the back of the town, just before it turned to real forest. Alfred simply looked at the small graveyard for a long moment. Finally, he removed his hat and dismounted. He draped his reins over his horse's neck and left it standing there, for it had long since been trained not to move. Arthur quietly slid off his own horse and watched him.

Alfred walked over to Matthew's grave and stood at the foot of it, looking down at it. There was no real gravestone, simply a rough piece of granite at its head. Sometime during the spring thaw, a pale green shoot had pushed its head above the dirt and the cold sludge. A small green leaf had unfurled, and then another. The briars had crept across the grave, pushing out any weeds that might have tried to grow there. They grew nowhere else in that stand of trees.

"Well, I'm home again, Matt," Alfred said. "And I've brought Arthur back with me. See? I've made a friend, and maybe a few more." He nudged the dirt gently with his toe. "You'd be proud of me." He smiled a little. "I know you know I was saving up the money so we could move out of this place. Maybe when one of found a girl, we'd set up a nice little homestead and move out someplace with lots of wildflowers." He chuckled. "Somehow, I don't think that's gonna happen, Matt. Not for quite a few reasons. I'll still be here, looking out for you, though, so don't go feeling too lonely." He put his hat back on his head and looked at Arthur. He was smiling, though there was still that faint sadness in the corners of his eyes that Arthur had seen when he had first met him. "You know, I like what you were saying about them red roses. When I die, I want to buried at Mattie's head with a red rose over me. You know, like that one we saw at that town a while back? The one I gave you?" Arthur nodded mutely to show that he remembered. "Make sure that happens, will you?"

"What makes you think you're going to die before I do?" Arthur asked. His voice came out rough and harsh.

Alfred laughed a little. "You know you're the more responsible one."

"Just don't do anything reckless on purpose," Arthur told him angrily. There were tears threatening to spill over his eyes and he knew it.

Alfred pulled him into a hug. "Don't worry Arthur. I won't." Arthur breathed his scent in deeply. He wanted to believe Alfred, but he wasn't sure he did. All he knew for certain was that he never wanted to let go.

* * *

><p>Many years later, Alfred took his last breath. They were not the young men they had once been. Arthur was still there at his side, there to hold his hand and cry his tears. That night, Arthur got on his horse and galloped for as long as he could. It took him two months to get there and back, but he did it, and when he returned he held a cutting of a rose between his fingers. It was wrapped tightly in sackcloth with a little bit of soil. He took it to Alfred's grave and unwrapped it, and then he planted it in the soil with its delicate new roots.<p>

At Matthew's feet, another grave was dug not long after for the best sheriff the town had ever known. Time passed, and nearly everyone had forgotten about the old Englishman who lived by himself in the old cottage at the edge of town. When he died, though, the people still knew exactly where to bury him.

Of course the red rose lost its bloom. It knew harsh frosts and snow and searing heat. But every year, in early autumn, it would bloom again for a few short weeks out of the year. It didn't last long, but everyone who saw it thought that it was the most beautiful rose they had ever seen. The people still said that sometimes they saw four ghosts on the edge of town, two of them lying as if they were sleeping, and holding hands; and the other two sitting quietly, the one watching the other, and the second adjusting his glasses with a small, quiet, grateful smile.

* * *

><p><em>They buried little Delia<br>In the churchyard deep,  
>With Louis Collins at her head,<br>Stacker Lee at her feet.  
>The angels laid them away.<em>

_Out of Delia's bed came briars,  
>Out of Louis's bed, a rose;<br>And out of Stacker Lee's  
>Came Stacker Lee's cold lonely little ghost.<br>The angels laid them away. _


End file.
